


You and the Southern Dragon

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Debatable consent, Dubious Consent, F/M, Happy Ending, No dragon sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: You are a bartender and a completely normal person until a very arrogant yakuza shut downs the place.  But what were you supposed to do?  You made him happy.  You took care of him and his men, worked hard.  You did what you were supposed to and what happens?  He’s mad and determined to drag you into his life and keep you there.Now what are you to do?
Relationships: Hanzo Shimada/Reader
Comments: 60
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abluey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluey/gifts).



> Dedicated to CloudsOfAnime. I’m worried that you won’t like it, but... here it is? I’ll do another one if you don’t like it. :)

You first saw him at the seedy bar you were working at part-time. It wasn’t the type of place anyone ever admitted to going to, let alone working at, but it was what you could get as a student. It was festooned with cheap flags and banners for beers and alcohol. An almost broken television showed jerky pictures of a sumo match on one wall. The place had an odd smell—a mix of odor from the terrible ramen place on one side and the industrial cleaning and bleaching company on the other—that seemed to encourage only the desperate to come in and see if maybe the beer was cold this time.

The owner—a lazy and fat man who lived with his equally fat mother in the squalid apartment above the rickety bar—was, of course, upstairs and stomping around, which left you as the sole bartender and a wiry teenager to do everything else from picking up glasses to washing dishes to taking orders and tinkering with the ancient pachinko machine in the corner. If he wasn’t out: out taking a drag of his never-ending cigarettes, out with friends, out with his girls, or just out. The owner also refused to hire any meaningful security, so it wasn’t unusual for just about anyone to wander in, no matter how unsavory or unsafe it might be.

A few punks were just wandering out—much to your relief—when you heard a sharp voice and saw suited men start to come in. You blinked in surprise as they slid in under the flickering neon signs and suggestive posters. These seemed to be business men who should be at one of the other bars that cared about mixology and exotic garnishes and...basic sanitation. Two went to sit at one table and one went to lean against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest. You were perplexed as yet another suited man peered inside as if to check for spies or ninjas or something before bowing low.

A younger man in a rumpled suit strolled in. Impatiently, he yanked at his blue necktie until it hung limply over his chest. He had longish hair, too, that brushed his shoulders and you could see it brushing his collarbone as he nodded regally. He couldn’t have been as old as some of the men—he had barely a line of fuzz above his lip where most of the others had neatly trimmed mustaches and sharply styled beards—yet he had an expensive gold watch, his shoes were shiny and well made, and his suit fit him like a glove.

You noticed that the others also made way for him and seemed to hover nearby as if he was a emperor. One even took the young man’s coat and settled it gently on the back of a chair. You had on your most welcoming smile and had taken a step closer to him when he unfastened his silver cuff links and pushed his sleeves up and you saw the elaborate tattoo going up from his wrist.

There was only one answer for that—only one group of people who indulged in such elaborate and traditional tattoos—yakuza.

The youth glanced nervously at you and suddenly disappeared out the rickety back door, which left you standing there as the young man climbed onto one of the mismatched bar stools and leaned his forehead on his elbows wearily. One of the suited men stomped forward and snapped his fingers at you before gesturing.

You were trapped. The cash register was broken again and you didn’t dare leave it behind with the drawer that didn’t lock. So, you walked over with your fake smile and your nasty washcloth to wipe the bar in front of him. Now that you were right in front of him, you could see that his crisp shirt was rumbled and one of his cuffs was ripped. There was even a line of blood on the sleeve.

“Hey, stranger,” you mumbled. “What can I get you?”

He looked up with just his eyes—his rolling eyes looking hawklike under his brows—and mumbled, “Sake.”

“Sure thing,” you nodded, turning to pull out a heavy bottle of sake and a carafe. “How many cups?”

“One,” he grunted. One of the other men murmured and the young man sighed with an arrogant toss of his hair and a roll of his eyes. “Fine. Two.”

You poured the sake into the carafe and took out two cups as you set the carafe to warm. Wiping them, you set them in front of him and took the carafe off the warmer. You only had two brands of sake and, from looking at him, you took out the higher quality automatically. Settling them in front of him, you gave him a nervous grimace and moved to set up a few plastic tumblers with ice.

The other men were spread out in your bar—including two standing at the front door—so you took out a pad. Most of them did simple orders—beers or simple build drinks with two or three ingredients—and you set out baskets of nuts and nori chips as you rushed to get the drinks mixed. None of the men looked like they were in a hurry, but you didn’t dare keep them waiting either.

The young man kept watching you with sideways glances and under his brows. It made you nervous as he kept staring, but what else could you do? He didn’t move in the slightest to pour his drink, to nibble the chips or to do anything but to watch you as you ran around. When you managed to get everyone served and back behind the bar, he seemed to wait until you were finally back across the bar before speaking.

“Pour yourself a drink,” he said.

You looked at him blankly. “Err.... I... uhh.... I wouldn’t want to...uhhmmm. Drink your drink.”

He shrugged and pointed to the tokkuri. “Pour my drink at least.” You stared at him with a frown. “It is...impolite—.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” you blushed. Of course there were protocols and manners and customs with sake! Carefully, you poured him a tiny cupful. He nodded slowly and then took the tiny carafe and poured the second cup. You stared at it blankly and nodded uncertainly. “I hope you like it...sir.”

“Take a sip,” he smirked. You shook your head in embarrassment and he nudged the little cup closer to you. “My men will make sure that we are not disturbed.”

You groaned in your head. Fewer people coming in meant fewer tips, less income. Less income meant that you were sure to get screamed at by the owner. Still, you were obligated to smile and nod and do whatever you could to avoid getting killed. Hopefully, the owner wouldn’t kill you himself when he found out that a group of yakuza had shut down the bar for the night.

You tried to hedge—not a lie, precisely, but more of a careful bending of the truth—and gave him a fake laugh. “I’m not allow to drink on duty.”

He kept staring at you without changing expression. “And what time does your shift end?”

You shrugged nervously. “I don’t get off for a while. Perhaps you should drink—.”

He snorted. “I will when you drink with me.” You were going to give him another laugh. “No...take a drink.” 

One of the suited men—a grouchy looking guy with very short, spiky graying hair and a navy suit—shoved one of the tiny cups towards you. “Drink.”

The young man waved slightly with a soft sound. “Calm down, Ko.” He glanced at you. “They think it might be poisoned and that is why you will not drink it.”

You shuddered as the grouchy glared at you. You saw him reach into his coat and anxiously took the cup. “So...uh.... Cheers.”

The men gave a short laugh as you slugged it and burst out coughing. Finally the young man nodded and took his tiny cup. He raised it, tilting it slightly to you and said, “Kanpai.”

You finished your drink as his slowly sipped his. You waited long enough for him to finish and poured him a second drink and then began whipping around to pick up empty shot glasses and dirty napkins. For having only about 10 people in the entire bar, you were sweating more than if you had 50 drunk bikers and 100 college kids. You scrawled the list of drinks on your pad, hoping you were going to get paid for them when you were done.

The young man watched you without emotion, sipping his sake thoughtfully. It was unnerving to be studied so closely as you did the dirty work of wiping up the bar and dumping napkins and sweeping crumbs. He only nodded as each of them ordered another drink, as if he didn’t really care that it was more money than you had ever had to spend on anything.

A few hours later, the young man had not stopped staring at you as you served the whole bar. He sipped his sake slowly and you would refill his tiny cup as you could. The other men seemed to relax as they took their drinks, gradually making them smile and even, at one point, shout and cheer at the badly televised sumo matches.

Finally, you glanced at the tiny clock that was wedged between whiskey bottles and felt relieved that it was close to 1:00 a.m. While the bar closed at some unholy hour on the weekends, a weeknight closing was at the “reasonable” time of 1:00. You smiled at shouted out, “Last call!”

The men groaned with smiles and you began totaling up the bill. It would be only a fraction of what you should have made tonight, but it was better than nothing. It was tremendously better than the bar getting trashed because of angry yakuza. At least—you hoped they weren’t going to trash the place now.

You took the tab to the young man with an anxious smile on your face. He gave you a grimace and nodded as he reached for his wallet. You set the bill down in front of him, ready to explain the charges, but he shrugged and asked, “Can you add some to the bill?”

You frowned and tilted your head. “What?!”

“This is not what you normally make on a night like tonight, correct? So add whatever you need to make it balance.”

“Ahh....but—.”

“Do it.” He glanced up at the ceiling as heavy footsteps crashed above him. “And perhaps you can evict the water buffalo that lives above this place.”

You dutifully added a “service charge” and a “corkage fee” (that sounded official, right?) and the bill came out about double. Still not what you would make, but close enough you could call it a slow night without getting in trouble. You began turning off the lights and television as the young man paid the bill and you wished them all a good evening as you locked up behind them.

When you took the check, though—you saw the exorbitant tip. You weren’t necessarily sure what the current exchange rate was, but you were pretty sure this was over a thousand in tip alone. For some reason, you thought about his tattoo and your hands shook as you began counting out the receipts and closing the register.

Over the next few weeks, they showed up a few times. Every time they did, he would sit at the bar and his men would lounge around the room, all but closing it down every time. Two men would stand at the door with a gorilla presence that silently forbade anyone from approaching the door at all.

Every time, he would stare at you the entire night. He would watch you without stopping, through his thick lashes and from under his eyebrows with thinly pressed lips and his fingers wrapped tightly around his sake cup or the glass tumbler of whatever he ordered. His manner was that he was a prince, despite his constantly rumbled suit and the rusty brown stains and streaks on the cloth that you never quite got the courage to ask about. The only saving grace was that he paid you just under what you might have made on a regular night with an almighty large tip.

You were starting to be on good terms with the men—at least enough to greet most of them by name and know what they had “regularly”. Yoshi took a Sapporo beer. Hiro took a whiskey neat and his... “cousin” (best friend?) Ko got a whiskey on the rocks. Asahi and Nobu both took Jager bombs when they weren’t watching the door. Taki and a large black-skinned guy name “Tino” and a wiry, tall man with a long pony tail of almost greasy black named “Moon” all took whatever you gave them. Door duty rotated in some odd fashion that you weren’t able to determine—most often Asahi and Nobu and Moon—and whoever was assigned took water and a package of chips.

The nearly silent young man at the bar—who was only called “Wakai Masuta” or “Young Master”—nearly always took a carafe of sake with two cups. He would wait indefinitely until you drank with him. Even if it got nasty cold, he would still wait. And wait. And wait.

The bar owner was all for making them happy, too. No matter what, he wanted them very happy. Even when they added a small sigil of swirling dragons to the outside wall, the owner simply nodded and told you to make them happy. So, you smiled and nodded and gave nervous chuckles at their jokes and smirked or nodded at their flirtatious comments.

That night, Nobu and Asahi came in and you announced last call to the random customers who had lingered. The customers snorted and paid their tabs and filed out in almost silence under the stern gaze of the yakuza. No one wanted trouble, no one wanted a fight.

You sighed and wiped down the bar. With a grimace, you flipped the switch to turn off the neon “Open” sign and took a swipe at cleaning the random debris on the drink rail on the wall and the rickety table. With a cleaning cloth, you wiped down everything—even the weird pachinko machine.

“Hey, Nobu, are you and Asahi on the door tonight?” you asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” he grunted sourly. Glancing at you as you dropped the rag behind the bar and began setting up drinks. “And treat the young master well tonight, huh?”

You cocked your head, ready to automatically ask what was going on, but something in Nobu’s manner said that you shouldn’t. Your second thoughts about it agreed—you did not want to upset anyone, let alone yakuza who were probably armed even when they relaxed at your bar.

Fifteen minutes, precisely, later, the rest of the crew came in. You counted heads and realized that Yoshi was missing and that everyone else looked like they were extras in a first class, businessmen zombie movie. Your smile was completely fake as you brought them drinks and set out the usual baskets of individual bags of nori chips, potato chips, peanuts and popcorn.

“Hey, Tino. Moon—what’s up?” You grabbed a bunch of square bar napkins and began rushing around to set them down. “Hiro and Cousin Ko—good to see you again.”

All of the men nodded with varying scowls and frowns and solemn features. Finally the young master himself came in with a cut on his cheek. Immediately, his eyes locked on to you. You gave him a nervous smile that tried to avoid cover your alarm at seeing the oozing gash on his cheek and from the cut on his lip, before rushing to get out the beers and liquors.

Finally—after rushing around—you got out the carafe and cups for the sake. He was sitting there patiently, watching you with a scowl. He didn’t even seem to notice the damp towel you folded and sat next to his arm, let alone wipe the cut on his face. You heated up the wine and served it to him, pouring him a cup before setting it down to have him pour you one.

You raised your cup to him and gave him a thin smirk. “Kan—.”

“No,” he hissed. “We.... You....” He swallowed heavily, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yoshi is in the hospital.”

The cup trembled in your hand and your fake, plastic smile fell and shattered on the floor. “I...I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “We were lucky, I suppose. The gunshot went into his shoulder and the doctor says he will be out in a week.”

You nodded uncertainly. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” What else you were supposed to say? You had no idea, but you needed to say something or else he might tell the owner you were rude. Or have the place torn up. Or worse. “I am...glad you are all right.”

That made him pause, cocking his head back. “Are you?” Without so much as a flicker of warmth, he gulped down his sake and kept staring at you. “Really?”

“Uhh...yeah.”

He slammed the little cup down and you dutifully refilled it under his unwavering gaze. All of the other men were staring at their cups. Or the blinking television. Or the unsteadily blinking pachinko machine. Or one of the drab and drooping flags.

The Young Master’s voice interrupted your scan of the room. “I wonder....”

Then he said nothing else. In fact, no one said anything else for the next few hours. They drank heavily, though—more than any other time. You kept track of the drinks you dutifully poured to each of them, but it felt like there was a terrible gaping darkness pressing down the room. It made you almost shake as it crushed your smile off your lips.

He waited until you got back to him to pour his next cup of sake. “Are you done soon?”

You nodded and shrugged. “I get off when I get done, I suppose.” He said nothing as you both took another drink. “B-b-b-but I’ll stay open for you.”

“Will you?” You nodded blankly as you wiped a glass and he nodded again. “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

You were glad to climb into your bed in the tiny apartment you were renting from the bar owner. Actually “apartment” was being very generous—it was a arthritic daybed with a lamp on a tiny table and a small tabletop that folded down against the wall, a metal folding chair, and an electric clock. Down the hallway was a shared bathroom that probably only barely passed whatever long ago inspection it had ever gotten, but it was the best you could afford on the peanuts that the bar paid you.

It was late—or early since it was like 2:15 a.m. according to your clock—and you were glad to be finally crawling into the tiny bed. Finally your day was over and you didn’t have classes the next morning. You were almost shaking—the heavy tips were actually making a dent in your school loans, but the tension was absolutely crushing you—and you were looking forward to about six more hours of winter darkness before dawn.

You were dead asleep when you first heard the soft sound. The first movement was a slight dip of the almost completely flat and hard mattress. You stirred slightly, rolling and moaning that it was far too early to be up, wasn’t it? Besides, you were on a lovely boat in the Bahamas or Caribbean somewhere with crystal blue water and purple dolphins racing underneath you, and the boat was only moving slightly as they raced and began jumping in the water. You gasped to see them leaping out of the water and turning graceful flips before soundlessly diving again.

The words came out of nowhere, startling you awake, “You said you would stay open for me.”

You whined and shot up awake, only to have a large, rough hand go over your mouth and push you back down to your pillows. Your eyes shot open to see a darkly clothed figure on the bed above you. You panicked, thrashing, but he caught your hands and held your wrists above your head.

The intruder appeared to have a loose, black hakama and a equally lose black traditional jacket on, with a form of chest armor—maybe one of those new bulletproof vests—underneath it. He wore a black half-mask of some kind that covered the lower part of his face. His long hair was pulled into short ponytail in the back of his head.

His eyes glowed darkly above the half-mask. “You.... I have you cornered at last.” You shook your head wildly under his palm. “I am done with waiting for you to come to me. I am done with being patient. I am done with watching you give every other man your smile, your laugh, when it should be mine alone.”

You were shaking wildly, underneath him, as he forced a knee and then his muscular thigh went between yours. Then the second thigh pressed and your legs were forced outside his hips. His eyes smiled and he nodded slowly. “You are mine. You always have been—from the first moment I saw you. You are mine.”

Terrified, you nodded, blindly agreeing to whatever he said. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “If you scream, if you fight, I will be forced to hurt you.” You shook your head wildly, your legs futilely kicking into the covers of the bed. “I will not hurt you if you obey me.”

At you next shaking nod, you felt his hand over your mouth tighten for a blind moment. Then, slowly he pulled it back, letting you breathe ever so slightly better. “W-w-who are you?”

He shook his head, almost angrily. “You know every one of my men. Who they are. What they drink. You know Yoshi was worried about his mother and asked about her last week. You know about Tino’s obsession with sumo and you leave the television on the matches. You greet Hiro and Cousin Ko like they are long lost kinsmen.” He hissed, pressing his cock against your groin. “Yet you never greet me. Never call my name. Never....”

“I don’t know your name,” you whined.

He pulled down the half mask so you could barely see his face in the dim room. The Young Master gave you a pitiless stare as he gripped your wrists even harder. “You never asked. Did you?”

You shook your head wildly. “N-n-no.” You gave another pointless kick, which only made him smile. “I...I didn’t. I’m sorry. I don’t—.”

His free hand came up to grip your jaw. “My name...is Hanzo.”

“Hanzo?” He nodded shortly at your timid question. “O-o-o-okay. I’ll...use your name next time.”

He shook his head with a strange expression. “You will use it now.” His had dipped so that his lips were right next to your ear. “You will scream my name as I take your body. You scream it when you cum. And then, you will call out to me because you want me to come to you again and claim you again and again.”

You shuddered, shaking your head. “N-n-no.”

“You will give me your body, your smile. You will give me joy when I see you. You will give me your smile, your laughter. You will give me that little flirting smirk instead of giving it to Hiro. You will give me that swish of your hips instead of giving it to them. You will give me that sexy little laugh that makes me hard and makes me happy to be at the end of a long day when I can see you again.”

You shook your head and before you could let out a terrified shriek, his hand stifled your mouth. Your cry melted into his palm. Your eyes dripped scared tears. He pushed your head aside and his rough lips kissed your wet cheek.

“You are not scared, are you?” You whined and he chuckled as you nodded wildly. “You are under my protection, little one. As long as I claim you, I will make sure you are safe.” He pressed against your core. “And you understand that you want to make me happy? Make me glad to see you?”

You nodded. With a whine, you trembled and tried to...do something. His tongue was tracing your neck and lapping at your sensitive ears. You tugged hard and only felt splinters of pain in your wrists as he held you firmly.

Slowly, he pulled his hand from its bruising grip on your face. You panted wildly even before his finally free hand trailed down to your painfully thin nightshirt. With a sudden yank, he tore it down to your waist.

“You are as beautiful as I had imagined,” he purred as his head dipped to nuzzle your suddenly bare breast. His nose pushed the tattered cloth off your other breast only to cover it with his palm. “You should have shown me more. No other man would be as patient with you as I.”

He finally smirked as his hands began ripping your nightshirt off. It fell into useless shreds around you and you heard him laugh—a dark sound that gave you a cold shiver—for the first time. You writhed and pulled on his grip on your wrists, but it seemed to only give him more ways to shred your only clothing.

“Do not disobey me,” he whispered in your ear. “Just quiet yourself and relax.” He smirked. “I am not going to be a harsh master to you, but I will be your master.”

His hand went to between your legs, to begin stroking your silky folds. You bucked hard, but every plane of his body was strong and thick with muscles. He smiled wickedly—white teeth flashing in the night. His lips brushed your forehead and then clamped over your mouth to swallow your moan. You jerked again, desperate for air, and felt his hard cock pressing hard through his pants against your skin.

His hand was gripping your breast and he was rocking between your thighs expectantly when there was a buzzing. He lifted his head up and cursed violently before fumbling to reach into his loosened clothing to pull out an epically tiny phone. He kept an even tighter grip on your wrists and ground rhythmically against your body as he spat into the phone. Whoever was on the other end was getting chewed out royally, and you were sure that you didn’t want to make him turn his fury on you.

Finally he ended the call and looked down on you. “You are going to be at the bar tomorrow, yes?”

You nodded rapidly, your eyes wide as he smiled. “Then I should see you there, should I not?”

You finally got up the courage to whimper, “What do you want to do with me?”

“I will see you tomorrow.” He ground against you one more time. “You and I will finish what we started then.”

“N-n-n-no!” You shook your head, hiding the trembling in your body. “I... I won’t!”

He only laughed as he pushed up off of you. “You and I will be... very close, I think.”

He didn’t even seem to notice as he tugged the mask and clothing and was again a shadow in the night. Then, as silently as he had come in, he was gone. But still the room seemed to throb with his presence and you couldn’t manage to stop shaking as you brushed the shreds of your clothes off the bed and found a new shirt to sleep in.


	3. Chapter 3

You were surprised to spend the rest of the week in solitude. The yakuza didn’t show up at all and you gradually relaxed. He was gone and you could move on with your life and crap job. The owner didn’t even say anything—it was like he had no idea what had been going on. Or if he did, he was highly invested in pretending he didn’t.

You had actually even begun to feel comfortable at work again when you saw the whole procession. Hanzo came in with his guards and a new face. You greeted them all as usual and began pouring waters for the two at the door and then beers and the usual drinks. Your eyes flicked nervously to the newcomer as he smirked and went to slouch on the bar next to Hanzo.

“Hey, stranger,” you said smoothly with your normal professional smile. You slid a bar mat—the flat coaster with the bar’s logo on it—in front of him and deftly picked up two of the tiny cups and put them in front of Hanzo. “What would you like to drink?”

He grinned widely and leaned closer. You took a bit of a step back—the bar wasn’t set up for a lot of ducking and weaving—and turned to warm Hanzo’s sake. Turning back around, you took in his impeccable silver suit, painfully white shirt, forest green tie with little gold accents and then his shock of short, fluffy green hair. His eyes were merry and seemed to glisten with amusement.

“Oh please—anything but sake,” he chuckled, pushing the little cup back at you. Automatically, you took it away and put it back. “Do you have any good Japanese whiskey?”

“Of course, sir,” you nodded. You reached for a tumbler and the bottle of whiskey. Not many people asked for the high-end whiskey, but there was a single bottle for good occasions. At least something good came from Hanzo’s patronage—you had a few bottles of good alcohol on hand. “Neat or on the rocks?”

“Neat, please,” he laughed. You flushed as Hanzo grunted and rolled his eyes. “So what is your name, beautiful?”

You poured his double shot and set it in front of him. Hanzo was getting antsy, his fingers tapping rapidly on the bar top and scowling as if he was going to start breathing fire any moment. “Here is your Hibiki.”

“Well, thank you,” he grinned, picking up the tumbler. The plastic glass looked cheap next to his designer suit and expensive watch. “And... if you ever need me, my name is Genji.”

He took out a pair of bills and stuck his card in them before handing them to you. Hanzo looked at the money and snorted. You looked between them nervously, and then at the men. The rest of the men seemed more tense, looking between the three of you as if you were all going to destroy the place.

Hanzo’s sharp snort drew your attention away. Thank goodness the sake was heated by now and you could put it in the carafe. The guards snorted in soft laughter as you resumed your normal routine of wrapping the bottle in cloth and pouring his first cupful.

The scrawny teenaged barback hustled around to set out chips and nuts, refilled your ice bin, and began collecting the empties. You smiled and gave a silent nod, thankful to have someone doing useful tasks as you tried not to collapse from the sudden tension. Unfortunately, he was pushed out of the bar with a few bills and the door slammed behind him. Hanzo didn’t even move to take his drink and everyone else was taking their cue from him—becoming tense and starting to scowl. Everyone but Genji—who only sipped his whiskey.

Hanzo kept scowling, staring at you and the drink and waiting. Finally as you pulled out the next beers, he stood up and—slamming his hand on the bar—and went down the tiny hallway towards the restrooms. In a minute or two, he came stomping out and signaled you with an impatient gesture and a frown.

You sucked in a deep breath and went to the end of the bar. “Yes, sir?”

“The restroom is... out of order,” he hissed angrily.

You nodded and grabbed the small bucket from its place behind the bar. There was a thick roll of rags, some cleaner, a plunger, a bar of soap, some rubber gloves, and a toilet scrubber. It was a common thing for you to be called into the restroom to clean up some mess or other. You glanced over your shoulder at the cash register and then back at the angry yakuza. He shifted his weight and you were sure you saw a glimpse of a holster.

Sighing—they were usually pretty good about paying you, and you couldn’t exactly think why they would pay you only to steal from you now—you picked up the bucket and walked down the hallway. He followed you closely down the hallway as well.

“Through here,” he said firmly. Strangely, he opened the door before you as if he was escorting a lady. You peeked inside, expecting to see any of the normal messes that occurred in a bar—vomit, drugs, broken glass, or body fluids. “As you can see, it is out of order.”

You stepped inside impatiently. The sink wasn’t overflowing—nor the toilet. The white tiles on the floor were... relatively clean and—for once—the trash can was even not overflowing. You set the bucket on the floor and went to the toilet to flush it.

Hanzo stepped into the bathroom and let the door close on its spring behind him. Unexpectedly, he kicked the bucket aside, spilling the contents across the floor. “I do not want you to talk to Genji.”

“What?! Why?”

“Do not think that you can make me jealous by approaching him.” He stomped up until you felt the cold wall against your back. His hands slammed the wall on each side of your head. “You are mine alone.”

“What? You don’t worry about—?” You blinked and scrunched down away from his scowl. “I talk to your men all the time!’

“And he is my brother,” he hissed, pushing closer. “Do not forget that you are mine.”

You frowned, staring up at him. His eyes narrowed and, suddenly, he smiled. His hand slid behind your head and pulled you even closer. His voice dropped to a purr and he whispered, “You are my woman.”

His kiss started as a soft brush, but as soon as you made the slightest move, he pressed harder. Every muscle in his body crushed against you. He growled like a pleased tiger as he gobbled your moan.

“I cannot marry you, but you are still mine,” he hissed as his lips went to your cheek.

“No!” you hissed back at him. For reasons that you couldn’t explain, you weren’t in a hurry to raise your voice. The men’s room was the last place you wanted to be in the first place, and you didn’t want a crowd at the door watching, but why the heck weren’t you yelling? “Whatever you are thinking—it’s not gonna happen!” 

That only made him chuckle softly. “You are mine like my weapon and my car and I will love you more,” he smiled, “but I will trust you less.”

That made you sputter angrily and shove him away. He seemed to not mind, and stepped back. You couldn’t stand up, so you stayed against the wall, glaring at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Do not talk to Genji,” he whispered. “Treat him as you would the other men, but remember that you will give me my due.”

He spun on his heel and left you then. You shivered and scrambled to pick up the plunger and toilet cleaner and whatnot and shoved it all back into the battered bucket. Just to be sure—you flushed the toilet and ran the sink and checked the soap dispenser and paper towels. Everything was fine—what a jerk.

The men didn’t look at you as you stepped back out. Everyone was in their same places, some watching the flickering television and Tino dumping the tiny playing balls into the pachinko machine. Hanzo was back at the bar staring at his sake. Only Genji had moved to lean on the bar and was staring down the hallway, right at you.

Your face went red and you put the bucket away. You washed your hands—up to the elbows—and went back to stand at your place. The register didn’t seem to be tampered with, but who knew? So, instead of trying to worry about it, you went back to serving drinks, doling out chips and snacks, and trying not to worry.

Genji kept smiling at you. You poured sake in Hanzo’s little cup—not quite remembering whether or not you had filled it once. He glowered at you as you turned to pull down the Hibiki and refilled his brother’s tumbler as well.

Hanzo’s low whisper was a hiss. “I believe that you are forgetting something, koneko.”

Genji smirked and sipped his drink. “Don’t scold, Hanzo. You aren’t here to boss everyone around.” He tipped his glass. “Why don’t you relax?”

Hanzo growled and stared at you. You flushed darkly and set out the second sake cup. That made him relax marginally and finally he nodded as he poured you a sip of sake. Then he pushed it closer to you. “Drink with me.”

Genji let out a hoot and his smile grew. “Now, it’s a party. Finally. So tell me, miss, what’s your name?”

“Never mind, Genji,” Hanzo growled. “She is not yours.”

That only made him grin wider. He winked at you but whispered to his brother, “So this why you’ve been staying out and away from home. I’m... actually proud of you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So, instead of making Hanzo growl even more and getting him more upset, you picked up the drink and brought your cup to your lips. You weren’t going to get drunk—couldn’t afford to when Hanzo looked like he was going to strangle his brother. Instead, you acted like you were drinking and then coughed heavily.

The other men gave polite chuckles and Tino muttered something about how you should be used to sake by now. You flushed and put it down before turning to get some more refills. It was something to get you moving, to get you not thinking about how Hanzo’s burning eyes stared after you and Genji’s eyes watched his brother with a smile.

Finally, you had nothing else to do and so you came back to the empty tumbler and the two sake cups. Hanzo looked serious, but not upset, until Genji laughed. “Han—do we need to give you two some privacy?”

That made the older brother flush red and slam back his drink. Instead of answering, he all but dropped the cup on the bar and sat up. All of the men straightened and gave good natured—if stilted—acknowledgements and got ready to leave. They got their jackets and finished their drinks as you whipped around to gather trash and pick up everything. Just like every time, Hanzo had you ring up “service fees” and “corkage fees” and then gave you an enormous tip. Then you paced as you stayed open until closing time, cleaned up and got out of there.

You stopped at a convenience store on the way home to get something to eat—no mean feat at stupid o’clock in the morning—and finally got to your apartment. When you finally got to your dark bedroom, you weren’t surprised to see a darkly suited man leaning against the wall.

“So you are finally here,” Hanzo smirked. He pointed to the bed. “I do not have a lot of time, but I have come to you anyway.”

He stood up and peeled off the dark jacket and began unbuttoning his white shirt as he walked up to you. His grin spread even wider as you froze to the ground, staring up at him. He threw his shirt on the floor and you were surprised to see his muscled chest with the white sleeveless undershirt clinging to him like a second skin. His tattoo gleamed darkly down his arm as he reached you.

“Are you shy, my beauty?” He shook his head, his long hair shaking down his back. His hands ran over your body and he smiled. “You have no reason to be shy.”

He scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your bed despite your frightened squirming. Instantly he was on top of you, sliding between your legs with an impatient eagerness. His mouth came to yours, sighing pleasurably.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured as he ripped your shirt—again. His mouth went to cover your nipple and lap back and forth between them. Again you felt that hard ridge in his pants as he kept thrusting back and forth. “You are such a delightful armful.”

“Hanzo—no!”

“‘Hanzo—yes’ is what you should say. You are my woman.” He licked your earlobe. “So, why not simply do what I want?”

You shook your head as he guided your hands down to his pants and began unfastening them. In short order, he had your palms tangled in the waist and was pushing them down. You whimpered as you realized that—of course—he was commando and there was nothing between you and his cock.

“Now, you will be a sweet treat after I have worked so hard,” he murmured. He nudged and pushed you until your legs spread and he was between them. “What a delightful little pet you will be now that you have a firm master holding your leash.”

You shook your head and bucked hard only to feel him chuckle. “I’m not yours....”

“Oh, but you are.” He shrugged and let you go long enough to peel off the undershirt himself. “Do not be shy. I will take care of my woman.”

His hand gripped your knees and then, with an easy move, he slid inside you. His grin was demonic and satisfied at the same time as he pushed in as deeply as he could. You went suddenly limp, whimpering as he settled there and leaned forward to begin nursing so slowly at your nipples.

“I see I will have to give you... more attention,” he whispered as he moved up to begin nibbling your ear. “Very well.”

His hands went everywhere, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples, brushing your clit with spine tingling jolts, and even caressing the suddenly hypersensitive skin of your neck. You whined to feel your body flushing and growing warm. Your hips pushed upward unexpectedly, making your body tingle with pleasure as his cock went inside as deep as it could.

That made him laugh and suddenly begin pumping his hips. “I knew you would like this.”

You shuddered and felt everything inside turn to mush. He gripped your hips and growled as his thrusts made you shudder. Abruptly he tugged your arms and wrapped them around himself. You couldn’t help but whine and grip him as he kept thrusting, even more powerfully now.

Now he was unleashed and he nibbled your neck. The fire in your body made you writhe and your legs clench at his hips. Fire and lightning coursed through you as his cock kept pounding into you. Then you couldn’t resist it anymore and you pushed up against him.

“Now, you are obeying me.” He grinned and nipped your bottom lip. “I will have to reward you.”

His fingers pushed until they found your hard nubbin and he stroked it firmly. That made you buck as a wave of heat pounded through you. Then he nipped and nibbled your nipples, forcing more pleasure through you. You gripped him with everything you had as he kept overstimulating you.

“You... you can’t!” You whined and shuddered as he didn’t seem to hear your words. “No...please.”

“Say ‘yes’,” he whispered against your mouth. You were going to refuse, but he rammed you into the mattress. “Say it.”

You groaned and clenched again, your fingers clawing his back. “No more!”

He only laughed and thrust again. “Now. Come for me.”

You shouted and bucked as your climax ripped through you. He shoved you down and you felt his whole body jerk in response. Then with a soft grunt, he thrust one more time and buried his spurting cock into you.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled out and went casually to clean himself off and get dressed again. He slid on his pants and pulled on the shirt. Without pausing to button it, he put on the coat and smirked at you. Then he picked up the undershirt.

“Now, you need to rest,” he smirked. With a sudden movement, he pulled the undershirt over your body. “I will look forward to seeing you at the bar soon.”

And without another word, he turned and walked out of your apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - A bit rougher in this chapter.

The next two nights, he showed up, drank the sake with you, and then appeared in your apartment. He would peel the clothing from your body and his before laying you on the bed and slamming into you. Every night, he would take his time making you feel every pleasure and then laughing as you came on his shuddering cock. Then he would pump hard and grunt as he came as well. How on earth he had the stamina of doing whatever he did during the day and then break into your tiny apartment, you had no idea. No matter how long it took—how long you resisted—he kept going until you fell apart in his arms.

It felt like he poured fire into your veins and he took special delight in your trembling pleasure.

The third night, he and his crew didn’t show up at all. You took gradually deeper breaths as the night rolled on and your customers wandered in and out, drinking and enjoying their lives in the absence of the yakuza. Your tip jar was gradually filling up, but it seemed much, much slower than your newly established “normal”. Still, it was money and the bar was actually seeming to be somewhat lively with talking and occasionally playing pachinko which made the machine play occasional music and bing.

You were dodging your skinny barback and collecting some empty bottles when you noticed a sudden hush in the crowd. Your skin prickled and you turned, expecting to see Hanzo come in, but instead another group of suited men—three sharply suited men—strolled in. One of them had a short bamboo rod over his shoulder and a second one had a shoulder holster on and flashed his gun.

Everyone stood up at once and began waving at you. You scrambled to collect the money and wish everyone good night as the three of them went directly to the bar and sat down. The one who grinned evilly at you didn’t seem to be armed, but you weren’t sure what he might have underneath his suit, so you gave him a nervous grimace in return and continued running around.

Finally you were back behind the bar and since they didn’t seem to be leaving, you set out napkins. Wearing your best professional, meaningless smile, you picked up your mixing glass and said, “Hey, guys. Thank you for coming in—how can I serve you?”

Smiling guy seemed to be the leader and he flicked his fingers to the door. The gun wielding guy nodded into a short bow and went to lock the front door and stand by it. You felt a cold chill run down your spine as you recognized the move. Your barback looked around at the men and you and ducked into the men’s room and you mentally groaned at his cowardice. At least he left you a full ice bin, but you wished that you had the option to run and hide.

The man in front of you made another gesture and got your attention again. “Now, pretty girl, let’s talk.” You restlessly picked up a tumbler and set it down in front of him. “I think you have something that I want.”

You blinked nervously. “Ummm... we have some good whiskey.”

He chuckled, his smile becoming only colder. “I think you know exactly what I want.” He leaned a little closer and you saw the edges of a colorful, scarlet and black tattoo at his cuff and at his crisp collar. “And the whiskey.”

You swallowed a quick breath and poured the Hibiki whiskey in the glass and then a second glass for the staff wielder beside him. The second man grunted sourly and shoved it back at you, causing some of the costly liquor to spill. Smiley just snickered and whispered, “He wants you to have some.”

“What?”

Smiley reached over the bar and trailed the back of his hand down your cheek. When you flinched and tried to step back, the second man grabbed your arm with lightning speed. “My friend here—you see, he doesn’t think you... like me.” Your eyes darted between them as you caught your breath. “And you are smart enough to like me—right, pretty girl?”

You stared at him with wide eyes. “Umm.... Sure. Sure, I... like you.” You dared to glance between them. “Yeah.”

He smirked and nodded. “Good, pretty girl.” He laughed shortly and his men followed briefly. “Because we like you, too.” The second guy poked his glass with his staff, making an even bigger mess. “Now, my friend here—he thinks that there may be... something wrong with your whiskey. There isn’t, is there?” You shook your head. “Then you won’t mind drinking with us, will you?”

You shook your head anxiously. “No... just whiskey.”

The glass was shoved just about over the edge. Finally you picked it up and took a sip. They remained there, watching you closely. Finally you were let go with a half shove. You whirled to collect a rag and clean the bar.

Smiley picked up his whiskey with a smirking air and sampled it. “You like this, pretty girl?”

“Umm, I guess?”

“So, let’s talk, pretty girl,” he mused. “Let’s talk about your friends.” You shook your head. “Let’s talk about... Hanzo.”

It was on the tip of your tongue to deny that you ever knew anyone named Hanzo, but the smile on his face was truly terrifying. You finally shrugged a little and went to pick up a glass to hand wash it. “I... I am not....”

“Word on the street is that he comes out and drinks here. That he... really likes this place.” He set down the glass and glanced around. “Of course, that’s silly, isn’t it? This place isn’t anything... special, isn’t it? It’s practically a dump.” He ran a finger around the top of the tumbler. “I can’t believe anyone would actually come here voluntarily.”

Number two grabbed your arm again. He grinned at you and you shivered to see his missing tooth and the silver capped incisors. You stared at him and whimpered softly as his hand tightened around your arm. “Umm... I am—.”

“In fact, I’m sure that you are probably the... only thing that might persuade anyone with any taste to come in here.” Smiley drank the last of his whiskey. “So, tell me, where is your friend, pretty girl?”

“Ummm... I can... I can take a message?”

He nodded shortly and smirked. Then he gestured with his fingertips again and you howled as your arm was twisted painfully. “Sure, why don’t we leave a message?” You were hauled from behind your bar and beside the pachinko machine. “Ai—let’s leave the Shimadas a message.”

You whined as the staff hit the glass front of the machine and it made a tinny ringing sound before the glass shattered. Another hit with the staff and the little metal pachinko balls began to shoot out. Ai—the one with the gun—picked up a chair and slammed it down, breaking it. Smiley only sat back, holding the empty glass.

“Are you sure that you aren’t going to give our friend Hanzo a call? Just to tell him to come by.” He reached over the bar and picked up the bottle of whiskey. Refilling his glass indolently, he sipped it with a spoiled cat’s lazy smirk. You shook your head—there was no way you knew of to reach Hanzo. “Then, we’ll just... leave a message.”

Ai threw the piece of the chair down and drew his gun. You whimpered, babbling, as you stared down the barrel of the laser pistol. You finally closed your eyes and began sobbing. You were sure that this was your last day when you heard a gentle knocking on the door. You looked up nervously as Ai grunted and stepped back to face the door.

Smiley finally seemed to stop smiling. He tossed the glass on the floor and stood up, drawing another pistol from behind his back. He gestured again and you felt the bamboo staff stuffed between your teeth. There was another knock and the heavy door rattled. Smiley grinned and whispered, “They’re at the front door.”

You were shivering as they moved to the front door, sure that you were about to die, when Genji burst in from the delivery door. Instantly, his hand shot out and knives flew through the air. Smiley and Ai groaned and collapsed as knives seemed to blossom out of their bodies. You screeched around the bamboo pole as your body was driven to the floor.

Hanzo—it had to be Hanzo in those precise, slickly shined shoes—strolled in and stopped just a few paces away from you. “I do believe that you are... out of your territory.”

“The Scarlet Dragons claim this block!” Smiley snarled.

“You are wrong,” Hanzo snorted. “Now... I will give you... ten seconds to leave my territory before you die.”

“You bastard!”

“And you are the one bleeding.” There was a breathless pause. “Now, I suggest you get out of here—before Genji kills you.” He waited another beat and then said, “Genji—take out the trash.”

The big brute above you let out a caterwauling sound and fell to the side. At almost the same moment, Ai fell and Smiley hit the ground. You felt strong hands grab you and whirl you to the back door and you stumbled through it. In the alley behind the bar, you saw two large black cars and several suited men standing there, waiting. A wiry man came forward and pointed towards the other end of the alleyway and you were grateful for the opening to keep going.

You didn’t know exactly where to go, since your apartment was too close. So, finally you staggered blindly into the first convenience store you came to. You wandered through the aisles, not seeing the products at all, and then went back outside. Where were you supposed to go now? Not the bar. Not the apartment. The boss was surely going to kill you—you left the till open and there was no telling what was going to happen....

Finally—after wandering aimlessly—you noticed the neatly suited man following you. He hung back about a half block away, just watching you without the least concern. You were going to run away, but he received a call and his voice carried. “Yeah, boss. She’s right here. Just three blocks away at the convenience store. Yeah, boss. I’ll get her back in the bar. Don’t worry. I got this.”

He walked up to you and pointed back down the street. “Please, miss. The boss says that you need to get back to the bar.” He shrugged. “He wants to be sure that the cash register is okay.”

He led you back to the bar, past the suited men who lingered around the front and back door. You shuddered as you stared at the slight wreckage being swept out by someone else. A large individual stood by the cash register. Another pair of men were wheeling out the broken pachinko machine and sweeping up the glass and the little steel pachinko balls.

You were gaping at the silent, efficient team when you saw Hanzo stroll in. He straightened his cuff and looked around like a prince examining his castle. “I suppose things will be back to normal.” He waved importantly and added, “Go check the register.”

You did and were shocked to find not one coin missing. In fact, not even your tips were missing. You looked up anxiously at him to find him leaning against the bar with a smirk on his face. “Umm...it’s all here.”

“Good.” His gaze swept the bar again. “I have placed a call to a friend of mine who says that he will deliver a new pachinko machine tomorrow. And replace the television.”

“What?! I can’t...! I don’t... have the authority for that.”

“I am taking care of this.” He waved absently at the room. “Tino is tired of that piece of junk anyway.”

“What?!”

“And the cash register,” he smirked. “You should have a register that at least locks.”

“I can’t afford all this.” There was a thud from overhead and you heard faint yelling. “And I’m pretty sure that he’s going to go crazy when—.”

“There is no cost to you.” He stopped to look at his nails. “I will expect you here tomorrow morning at ten. And we will waive this month’s protection payment as well.” He winked slyly. “Just... do not boast about the last.”

“Umm... of course not.”

“Then I will instruct my men to lock up and I will escort you home.”

He did escort you. First to the bank to drop off the night’s deposit and then to your apartment. Yet, he did not stay. And you didn’t ask him. Instead, you went directly to oblivious sleep. Then, at ten the next morning, you staggered to the bar. You weren’t sure if you were expecting to see nothing or to see all the changes he had boasted about. So, you didn’t dare expect anything.

Imagine your surprise when you saw several large boxes and a pair of men at the front door. You were numb as you unlocked the bar. They strolled in and began ripping open the heavy boxes. You gaped as they installed two speakers in the corners of the ceiling, a new digital receiver, and the new television. One of them showed you the huge new remote control and you were surprised how quickly you had it tuned into the same sports channel Tino liked. The surprises didn’t end there because as you were cutting the garnishes and prepping the bar, another group of men came in with not one, but two new pachinko machines that they connected to the Internet so that players could post scores across the world.

Your bar was suddenly active. Everyone could see the flashy new television from the street and hear the thump from the new speakers. The new pachinko machines were a hit during the happy hours and you actually had people lined up to play. Then to your surprise, you had to empty the coin bin. As people heard about the new upgrades—you saw a few of the customers taking photos of their scores—more people came in. It was a welcome burst of activity, even if it slowed down to a trickle as people began to go home. Still, your tip jar was getting really well filled and you practically could feel your debts vanishing which brought a more ready smile on your face and a spring to your weary steps.

Later that night, you were relieved to see Hanzo stroll in with his crew. He nodded at the new fixtures, amused at the eternal sumo matches. You began serving them and felt peculiarly torn between relief that it was them and no one else and a strange sense of guilt at accepting the expensive new equipment from them.

Not them.

Him.

Hanzo was not going to be denied and you were honestly not surprised to see him in your apartment after you closed up. You let out a happy squeal and ran up to him to throw your arms around him. “Thanks... so much. It really—omigod—that was so—.”

He scowled at you and stepped back with a snort. “So... you are only a base female after all.” He shook his head. “A few... trinkets and you are willing to do anything.”

“But... it was—.” You shook your head. “I mean—that was amazing! Th—.”

He shrugged and peeled off his jacket. “I suppose I have time for... this.” His eyes were cold as he went to the bed and sat down. “So... show your thanks.”

You approached him slowly. “H-h-hanzo?”

“I do not give permission to use my name to just anyone,” he hissed. He toed off his shoes and spread his legs obscenely. “Come and make my time—and my money!—worthwhile.”

You slid closer to him, all of your bubbly joy fizzling out. He waited just a moment and then stood again. Stalking up to you, he ripped your clothes off of you. “Now you look like you deserve.”

“Why are you being like this?!”

“I told you. You are my woman. I will not buy your... favors.”

“B-b-but... I mean... The new stuff for the bar. It’s... so hard to explain. I mean... you did all that. And-and-and you didn’t have to.” Suddenly tears formed in your eyes. “I mean—.” You leaned against his chest. “I mean... you rescued me and everything.”

He stared down his nose at you. Finally he let out a snort. His hands came up to your shoulders and his lips brushed your hair. “I see.” You looked up at him. “Very well—we will say that I rescued you.”

With a blistering force, he grabbed you and kissed you. One strong hand got underneath your thigh and lifted it up around his waist. Then he pulled your other leg. He broke for a breath as your legs went around his waist. Supporting your weight easily, he carried you to the wall. You gasped to feel the cold plaster on your back. Then he tugged lightly, here and there and you felt the smooth, warm skin between your legs.

A moment more and he was inside you, thrusting against the groaning wall. You felt a scream in your throat as he kept going. The familiar lightning whipped through you and you tightened your legs around his waist. “Please... God, Hanzo!”

He shivered and growled, “You are... going to drive me... to insanity.” Three more thrusts and he let out a deep guttural sound. “You are mine!”

“Yours!” you called back.

His lips locked onto your neck and he bit down. You stiffened, feeling more fire race through you and you squeezed even harder. The man groaned and shifted, thrusting even harder until every move brought stars to your eyes. His suckling on your skin pushed you over the edge, spinning fire into your body as his cock kept stoking it higher and higher until you bit your lip and screamed into his shoulder.

Then, with a final grunt, he finished. Groaning, he leaned against you until you felt almost crushed against the wall. Finally, he managed to squat down and let your feet hit the floor. With a dizzy whirl, you both managed to stagger to the bed, but it was only a moment of sweetness together before he staggered up and left you behind again.

A week passed and you only saw him twice. There wasn’t a set schedule or pattern that you could discern. He would just show up every so often and then you would have a night of fire and lightning and he would leave again.

Still, you were glad to see him when he did show up. He would lounge at the bar as everyone relaxed. He would drink sake with you and pay so much more than his small group actually consumed. The boss had no problems with it—lots of money coming in for very little product going out—and still kept telling you to keep them happy.

You were glad to do that.

Of course, nothing could stay the same forever. One day, Genji came in with the men. You nodded and greeted everyone like normal. You were reaching for the sake when you finally realized that... Hanzo wasn’t there. With a heavy sigh—and no small disappointment—you reached for the Hibiki and poured Genji’s drink.

He grinned at you and tipped the glass at you. “Got it in one. Man, I can’t tell you the number of time people assume that I’m like him. And so I get lots of tea and sake.”

“Oh....”

“I really hate hot tea. Sake isn’t so bad, but I get tired of it.” He sipped his drink with a smile. “I am really damn glad that someone... you know, considers me separate.”

You nodded in sympathy. Of course, this crew was not nearly a full house, but there were still bottles and glasses to pick up. Finally you were back behind the bar again, staring at Genji as he sipped his drink.

“You know,” he nodded, “you really are cute.”

“Ummm... thanks?”

“My brother has good taste,” he smirked. “So... you don’t have a sister or anything, huh?”

“What?!”

“Well... I know that until I find your equal—I’m just not going to be satisfied like my brother is.”

You rolled your eyes. Just like anyone else who worked in any hospitality job, you had heard just about every pickup line and every smutty, idiotic approach ever created. “Forget it.”

He cackled wickedly and nodded, tipping his glass at you again. “So...what would your boss say about you treating your... favorite patrons like that?”

You were about to make a snappy comeback when you heard a thud and shouting above you. Then another thud and you shuddered. While this wasn’t your favorite, dream job... you weren’t in a hurry to get fired either. “Umm....”

He chuckled with only a hint of steel in his voice. “That’s what I thought. So should I tell him you’re sulking because he didn’t show up?”

“Oh don’t you dare!” you grinned. Genji was obviously teasing and being a brat. “He’s insufferable as it is.”

That made Genji howl with laughter. “I suppose he is.” He leaned close and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Seriously, you seem like a good person. So... don’t get too close, huh?”

Your voice dropped as well. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t get too close. Don’t look too close. Don’t ask questions. Don’t get too serious. He and I have our lives and you have yours. Don’t get too serious and start thinking about rings and weddings.” He sighed and shrugged. “Otherwise you might get hurt.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious. He didn’t flinch or look away or fiddle with his glass. “You...?”

“Don’t get too close. Don’t look too close or ask any questions. Take whatever is offered and don’t look back.”

You dared to snort, “I already got told off when I tried to thank him—.”

He smirked and nodded. “Yeah, well... things are different for us. Everyone has a hustle. Everyone has some side thing going to line the nest. Everyone is after something. It’s a little hard to think anyone is really grateful, really thankful, and not plotting something horrid or after more.” He stared at the whiskey with a morose expression. “It’s just easier for everyone if we all know the rules. So, just let it go.”

“But that’s crazy. The television alone must have cost a mint!”

“So what? It’s only money.”

You had no response for that and he didn’t seem to expect one. He paid the exorbitant amount you rang up, tipped you well, and got everyone out. You took a long time closing up as you mulled over what he said. In Japan, gratitude was a way of life, right? Yet Genji made it sound so... hollow and materialistic. Just as well that you were going to be going back home soon. One more year to go in school and then you would find a job somewhere.

That idea made you feel incredibly sad for some reason.

You got home to your apartment and simply sat for a while. Then the day caught up with you and you finally crept to bed. You were feeling depressed and ill in general, so you called around and got someone else to do your shift the next day. You would sleep for a long time and then spend the day spoiling yourself. That would help.

So, you got a good night’s sleep and finally got a good meal. Then a long nap. There was a very long time that you did... very little. You took some time to go over your textbooks and notes—a leisurely study that actually made a few of the facts stick in your head. Then you took another nap and got some hot tea. The long day was making you feel better and you thought that maybe you needed to take a little more time to rest and study.

The day darkened and became evening and you were almost sad to see it go. Tomorrow you would have to scramble for notes, work hard and you were closing again. (Not that you weren’t mostly closing the bar these days, since the owner figured you were a good luck token with the Shimada yakuza.) Tomorrow would feel like a week compressed into one, fucking long day.

You drank the last of your weak tea and ate your cheap bowl of rice for dinner. You didn’t dare spend much more for your normal meals, and you didn’t dare spend another day at home. So, you were planning to sleep tonight and be better rested for the next day. You did dare to take a shower in that awful shared bathroom.

When you got back, you shivered in your apartment to see all of the lights off and the curtains over your one window closed and... pinned shut. You struggled to fumble for the light switch and cried out when your fingers brushed something metal and sharp.

“Do not,” Hanzo ordered in the dark.

You heard him shift in your apartment—and saw a small object glow with a phosphorescent hue. The young master stood there with a small glowing rock in his hand and a scowl on his face. He carefully palmed the stone and walked up to you.

You whined to feel him instantly grab your hair and then cried out as he drug you to your bed. His hands ripped through your clothing like it was nothing as he pushed you face first down on the bed. You tried to take a deep breath, but it was hard as he slid on top of you. His clothing was rough canvas and grated against your skin and he pressed you into the mattress.

It was a surprise that he pulled out some coarse rope and tied your wrists behind your back. He’d never been that rough before. Then he pulled it tight and looped the tail around your torso. You had no doubt that you had no chance of escape.

“My men have this entire building surrounded,” he hissed into your ear. “You will not leave until we have settled our unfinished business.”

You whimpered to feel him push a ball shaped thing into your mouth and then fasten it behind your head. You shook your head, but he said nothing and only slid the buckle into place. Then he shoved your head and your face went into the flat pillow and hard mattress. You whimpered around the gag as he looped a leather collar around your throat. There was a clink right in front of your neck and he tugged the leash until it was around the bedpost.

Only then did he get up. The stone or whatever it was was on the bed, close to your eyes. You whined and thrashed, but there was obviously no way out. And he was standing there, peeling off his clothes and then carefully folding them before setting them on the one chair. Then, proud and unyielding, he stood there, studying you.

“Now, we will discuss your unseemly behavior.” He brought out a small bag from somewhere and you shivered to see him pull out a white plastic paddle. He slapped it against his palm and it made you jump to hear the loud pop. “I will expect you to learn the lesson well.”

He walked up beside you, putting a heavy hand on your back and pinning you in place. You steeled yourself to feel the sting of the paddle, tensing even as he chuckled lightly. The first swat was harsh and you screeched around the gag. He didn’t stop until he had spanked you six or seven times and your backside was covered in stinging pain.

He pulled back again and you gasped noisily. Then, to your surprise, you felt his warm palm stroke your ass. “Now... we are getting somewhere,” he mused. “I will ensure that you will not forget this lesson.”

He settled between your legs again. The edge of the paddled traced cooly down your spine, making you arch. He slowly and methodically paddled you again, until you jerked and pulled from his every move.

“Are you sorry?” he asked. “A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice.”

You shuddered, sobbing around the wet gag. You couldn’t think for a moment and shuddered before finally nodding. He snorted, rubbing your stinging skin with his hard cock. You nodded slowly again only to have him spank you again.

“Stupid girl,” he snorted. “I suppose you are now going to tell me you have no idea why you are being punished.”

You nodded frantically. You had no idea why he was so mad.

“I told you... to not speak to my brother.” His hand squeezed your ass harshly. “I told you to be polite, but to leave him alone.” He spanked you again, making you yelp again. “Did I fucking stutter?”

You shook your head. He snorted angrily. But he set the paddle down on the bed beside you. Slowly, his hands pushed under you to cradle your breasts. Ever so slowly, he breathed down your spine and gently massaged your nipples. One hand slid back out and went down to caress your slit.

“Hmm... I know that I have trained you to respond better than this to my touch.” Slowly, he pressed inside, curling his finger to that little patch of skin that always made you whine. “Good little girl. Get wet for your master.”

You shook your head wildly, spit dripping off the gag to the pillow. But he knew that little place and the sensitive place on your neck. And—oh God—the exact way to stroke your rapidly hardening clit so that you were feeling the pressure to enjoy it. Finally, you did, curling your back to offer your core up to that boiling hot cock.

He chuckled dryly again and slid into your body with a practiced move. Immediately, he began a low, smooth thrusting that made you almost forget that you were completely at his mercy. That you were almost helpless. He made a pleased sound and you were groaning to feel him speed up.

Then he stopped.

You wailed and tried to push up, to thrust against him, but he stayed there, only rocking slightly. He would tease you—the more you tried to use your legs, the further he pulled out. Fine—you could play his game and you settled to whatever he wanted.

“Now, you will find,” he murmured, “that many people are hardened to some degree against pain.” He smirked as his hand roamed over your sore ass and you whined. “However, in my considerable experience, no one hardens themselves against pleasure.”

You couldn’t begin to comprehend his words as he thrust over and over again. It wasn’t like before, when he pursued pleasure like a hunted animal. This was more terrifying, more skilled and more thorough than anything else. Every single one of your weak points was stroked and teased until you were panting and moaning. He sped up until he felt your instinctive curl, heard the hitch in your breath and felt the rhythmic clenching and knew you were moments from your climax.

Then he pulled out again, laughing as you squealed.

“So close and, as the foreigners say, ‘no cigar’.”

You felt him shift and didn’t want to see what he was going to pull out. There was a squishy sound and you felt a cool, slick pressure right at your ass. You howled, moaning for him to stop and he ignored it. Or was pleasured by it, since he let out a soft moan of his own and pushed forward again.

Your muscles burned as his cock stretched your muscles out. It made you twitch and writhe as he pressed inside you, and every move made him shudder and finally let out a pleasured hiss. Then he slid back out and you hoped for reprieve, only to have that hope dashed when he pushed back in. Your climax was a distant and forgotten memory and you sobbed as he continued. You shuddered with cold sweat as you tried to figure out some way to move that didn’t hurt.

Finally, he pulled out and rolled you over. You wept in relief as everything felt burned out and ached as you tried to figure out what would happen next. Instead, he pulled off the condom—unhelpfully dropping it on your bed—and slid into your body instead. Your core seemed to weep in relief as things were suddenly right again, and you pushed up gratefully.

“You, my little one, are an open book. You have no resistance, no hardening.” He began thrusting again in an even rhythm that suggested that he was not even close to ending. “You could be punished with simple pain, but I think... you will learn your lesson better with pleasure.”

His last trick was to pull out a long, smooth dildo and slide it into your ass, just as he was thrusting. He was devilish, stroking your clit and suckling on your nipples and riding your body as you tipped from pleasure to pain and back again. It made you howl behind the gag as he kept attacking your nipples and clit, making you feel welling pleasure that was smoldering on the edges with pain. Each time that you tried to shake your head, to tell him that something was falling from the edge of stimulating into painfully too much, he seemed to take it as a sign to only do it more, harder.

“You know that really good girls would not enjoy this so much?” he chuckled.

You jerked wildly, your legs rising to circle his waist. He groaned and wrapped his arms around you. Muttering against your skin, he kept going and you felt him abandon his cold and clinical pounding until he was thrusting wildly between your legs. Your body squeezed down on everything, and you felt him shift again until one rough thumb was rubbing your clit and one thick finger was keeping you impaled and stretched wide on the dildo. You wept harder, feeling it settle humiliatingly deep into your body as he kept stoking your pleasure.

Then, it all fused into one massive ball of flame. You sobbed, knowing you were helpless and how futile it was to even try to resist. Everything stiffened and shattered inside. You were a pet, a helpless animal being punished—and you knew it. You shouted futilely and begged him to stop as everything seemed to be just too much to bear. Instead, he pressed his lips down, his tongue sliding inside as he swallowed your cries. Then, you jerked and stiffened and felt every muscle spasm as you came howling into his mouth.

He snarled and pounded into you. His thrusting became even more erratic and burned inside you as he went faster. He growled into your neck and bit down until you writhed. Then he allowed himself to be pushed over the edge and grunted as he spilled inside you.

You jerked, feeling the burning as things seemed to fall into hollow coals. He smirked down at you as his skin glowed with sweat. His body twitched and you felt filled with too much, like a tight and overripe fruit. There was nothing you could do about it, except sob softly and hope that he would be satisfied soon.

He pulled out, his finger trailing over your leaking core. “I felt you cum.” You nodded slowly, your shame blushing your cheeks. “And like a dirty whore—with all your holes filled.”

You wailed and tried to kick him. Of course your muscles were practically mush, and he only held your knees anyway, keeping you spread in front of him. Finally, he grunted and nodded and pulled out the dildo and tossed it to your floor. Slowly, he drifted his hands over your skin. You flinched as he brushed those blooming bruises.

“Now, I hope that you have learned your lesson.” You sobbed and nodded slowly. “Do not think to make me jealous, or try to manipulate me, by trying to go to Genji.”

He walked slowly around, picking up the paddle, the dildo, and whatever else he had back into his bag. Then, he got dressed and picked up the glowing stone. Coming back to stand over you, he seemed almost sad. Without another comment, he untied the rope and folded it back in the bag.

Instantly your hands jerked, trying to get enough control to unfasten the buckles. Maybe the one behind your head for the gag. Maybe the humiliating collar. But he stroked your head, pushing the hair back from your face. He gently reached to undo the gag and pulled it from your mouth and shoved it away in that bag.

You stared up at him with tears dripping down your face. Was he serious? Finally you nodded slowly. Your voice was scratchy and hoarse as you whispered, “I... I won’t do it again.”

He gave you a half grin and nodded. “I know you won’t.”


	5. Chapter 5

A week passed slowly by and you didn’t see him. You didn’t want to admit you were missing him—counting the days until he showed up. He was busy, undoubtedly. The papers were filled with information about crime and police pursuing criminals. You were convinced that one of these days you would find a front page article that he had died. And you weren’t sure how you would feel when you saw it. Perhaps you would....

Well, never mind. He didn’t show up. Not in a week. Not in two weeks. Occasionally, you did see Tino or Moon or someone walk by on the sidewalk and they would stick their heads in and look around. Once Moon stopped for a soda, but he didn’t close the place down and only tossed a few bills down and left again. It was only enough that none of the other gangs or yakuza tried to wreck the place.

And you were... kind of jumbled in how you felt. The man was sex on legs and you had some good times, but, fuck, he needed an attitude adjustment. Then, you’d remember Genji. You didn’t really know him, how he lived his life as a yakuza. Honestly, you were a guest in this area and you really needed to behave or get thrown out on the first transport or worse.

You were relaxing as much as you were able, when Moon opened the door and you saw all of your customers suddenly stand, toss money in your direction or on the table or bar and all but run out as Tino held open the door. You were going to make a smart remark about them closing the place when you saw Hanzo slink in.

Your mouth went dry and you knew your hands were shaking as you fumbled to get out the sake cups. He went to his normal seat—that stool must be pressed into the shape of his ass by now—and leaned on the bar expectantly. With a heavy sigh, you did the rounds of the room and gave everyone their drinks—Moon taking water as he looked near the door—as his sake warmed.

You poured his drink with a frown as he seemed to stare past you. With a shaky smile, you poured the usual two drinks. He didn’t wait for you to drink or toast or even give you a chance to reach for your little cup before he snatched up his and drained it before slamming it back down on the bar. Then he grabbed the second one and drained it before turning morose eyes on you.

Dutifully you refilled both cups and stared nervously as he drank both of them. With wide eyes, you grabbed a cup of iced water and dropped a lemon slice and an orange wheel in it. He snorted as you set the cup down in front of him. He tapped the sake cup.

Cousin Tino gave you a small bob of a bow and an anxious chuckle. “Just keep the sake flowing, miss.” You looked up at him and he gave you a small shrug. “The young master could use it.”

You blurted out, “Why?!”

“Enough!” Hanzo snapped irritably.

Tino grabbed the remote you kept on the bar and switched channels through a dizzying array of shows before he let it stay on some kind of performance. You stared at the television in confusion as a heavily made up Kabuki actress—or was that an effeminate actor?—strolled through dressed in a fanciful costume. Tino turned up the sound and suddenly the room was filled with a song. Hanzo tapped the cup and you refilled it again. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded as Tino asked, “That’s the Osaka troupe doing Benten Kosovo, isn’t it, boss?” The young master nodded, taking slower sips of his sake. “You wanted to see it, didn’t you, boss?”

Hanzo looked up at you and sighed, “I was otherwise engaged and could not attend their performances.” He looked at you and then considered his cup thoughtfully. “Have you seen the play?” You shook your head. “We will watch it then.”

With that, he nodded regally at the men and began watching the performance. Tino shifted things around and brought Hanzo some nori chips and snacks and water. He leaned over the bar and crooked his finger, grimacing as you came over. His voice was a trembling tenor whisper as he said, “Forgive the young master—he is not himself tonight.” He pointed at the sake carafe. “Keep the sake flowing.”

You hunched over and whispered back, “What’s wrong?”

Tino gave you a grin, “The young master is suffering from an arranged marriage—.” Hanzo glanced over his shoulder at you with a toss of his long hair. “—among other things.”

You swallowed heavily as Tino scuttled away from you. Thankfully, you knew the others would get him home safely—unlike some of your other patrons who relied on you to call them a cab every time they showed up. So, you warmed up some more sake and began the unexpected process of getting Hanzo drunk.

Very drunk.

He drank steadily as everyone watched the performance. You didn’t quite understand it all—you had missed a lot of the setup of the plot—but the elaborate costumes and sets were breathtaking. Hanzo seemed to enjoy it, though and seemed to actually relax as the play went on. In fact, he was very relaxed by the climax of the play. He leaned against the bar, almost lying against it as he hummed along. 

You stared as he seemed to be leaning more and more. It was strange to see him sip and sip and sip and lean further and further back, his head lolling on his shoulders. Tino only nodded at you when you looked at him nervously as you took out another moderate portion of sake to heat up.

He could barely stand when the performance ended. Moon came forward with understanding murmurs and pulled one of Hanzo’s arms over his shoulders. Nobu took the other arm and they began lurching out. Tino smirked and nodded, “Yeah. The young master did need this.”

“An... arranged marriage?”

Tino nodded and pulled out a pen. “Yeah. The Master has been working hard to make sure the Young Master has a suitable bride. And tonight he met her for the first time at dinner.”

“Oh.” You cocked your head curiously. “I’d guess he’s not pleased?”

Tino snorted. “It’s not my place to make such judgements, miss.” Then he winked at you and his voice dropped to a whisper. “But I’d say... he was less than thrilled.”

Moon burst into the place with a leather wallet in his hands. He panted out greeting and opened the wallet carefully. “The Young Master wished miss to charge...” He frowned and concentrated hard for a moment and then continued, “For miss to charge her normal rates.”

You swallowed heavily and rang up the usual amount—plus a little extra considering how much he drank—and presented it to Moon. He didn’t look at it, only pulled a card out and gave it to you. You swiped the card and he tipped a respectable 20%. Then they took the card and receipt and departed, leaving you to close up and head home like normal.

You jerked awake from your sound sleep. You were certain that someone was in your apartment with you. At first, you thought it was a bad dream, and resolved to go back to sleep, but you then heard a pleased chuckle.

That particular pleased chuckle you knew so well.

“It is about time you awakened, my blossom,” Hanzo purred from the darkness.

You let out a frightened mew and felt more than saw him approach your bed. The mattress sagged and you felt a warm body lay down quite casually next to you. He stretched out, taking a long time to stretch out. The sudden intrusion made you feel very small and anxious.

The scent of incense and sake filled your lungs as he began peeling off your clothes. You coughed and wriggled as it smothered you. “What...? Are you drunk?”

He laughed heartily and you felt him pull something out of his pocket. You couldn’t really see him, but you could hear the whisper of softly combed wool and feel the crispy starched cotton and the silk of his necktie. For some reason, you felt even more unsure knowing he hadn’t changed to his normal shadowy colored gear—as if it was even more obvious that he was there for one purpose and nothing could change that.

You struggled in the tangle of sheets and your pitiful blanket and muscular yakuza. You got up to one elbow and with your knees up when he pushed down on your waist, forcing you down again. He apparently was able to see in the dark since he could unravel you and pull off your clothes without sight.

You let out a terrified whimper as he peeled the last cloth away. “What are you gonna do to me?”

He purred and brushed gentle kisses along your collarbone. “I am going to do whatever I want.” His sake laden breath was hot against your skin. “And now I am going to enjoy my perfect pet.”

You wriggled, pulling away futilely because he only grabbed you and pushed you down. “You’re like married or something. Off—!”

He only laughed again. “Married?!”

You snarled as he laughed again and bent to suckle your nipples. “Tino said—!”

“Besides, why do you care?” He nipped your soft breast. “I never promised to marry you.” He licked the pink bit of skin. “And nothing will change between us.”

“What?” You shoved his shoulder. “You.. you monster! You miserable, evil—!”

He snorted and kissed you, muffling your curses. “I never promised to marry you. And you should be happy for that.” His lips were hot against your skin. “I have to marry and my father chose her.”

He dropped light kisses against your breasts and neck and face. “Instead, she should be wailing and gnashing her teeth she is not you.” He licked your neck and teased your earlobe. “Because I choose to spend my time with you.”

He laughed softly again and you shuddered to feel a lumpy, cold thing beside you. He then set a cloth of some kind on your belly. “So let us celebrate my... marriage.”

The lumpy object drifted across your skin, giving you the impression of cool, uneven skin. He wrapped your fingers around the gourd shape. Then, he pulled on the stem and you felt a small, cold piece of metal on a thin metal chain hit the back of your hand. With overwhelming force, he bent the stem to your mouth. A stream of sweet, tingling liquid filled your cheeks and the taste made you cough.

“Surely you are used to sake now, my pet?” Hanzo laughed and snorted as you coughed around another swallow. “Perhaps you are not used to the high grade that I normally have.” He kissed your skin lightly. With a gentle caress, he tipped the stem and let the cool liquid drip to your skin. You whimpered as it tingled and prickled your skin. “It tastes almost as sweet as you.”

You shuddered and felt him move again, the cloth on your chest moved and you felt a string of things drag across your breasts. You could feel the cool, round beads trail over you, circle your neck and lay over you.

“I want to see you,” he purred again. “All in jewels and nothing else.”

You heard the rough grating sound of his zipper lowering. Then another shush of fabric and his warm, dry dick brushed your belly. Then, with a practiced move, he slid inside you. You gasped and shuddered in pleasure. You closed your eyes and whimpered, feeling your body tune to exactly his rhythm and swell the heat in your veins.

“That’s it my pet—exactly what I wanted.”

He thrust forward hard enough to make you squeal and your breasts bounce. Then nothing, except that steady rocking that kept you boiling. You took in a heady breath and hissed, “Are you gonna MHMGH—!”

He pushed a bead from the necklace between your lips. Instinctively, your lips tried to close, to trap it before it was shoved down your throat. “Your pleased sighs are all that I need.” You tossed your head slightly. “But you cannot struggle, or the pearls will be ruined.”

Pearls? You ran your tongue lightly over the uneven surface, tasting the cool, smooth surface. There was a slight gap between each one, a little lump of a knot between each pearl. Each one was smooth and round—evenly sized—but there were tiny imperfections of almost flat. From somewhere, you had remembered reading that real pearls were not perfectly spherical and were string with knots between each one because it preserved the set of pearls better. 

“Shh... remember, you do not want to ruin the pearls.”

He began suckling your nipples, making you whine. You growled slightly and bucked hard, squeezing every muscle as tightly as you could. That made him groan and then laugh as he began pounding even harder between your legs. You shuddered as spit dropped down your chin, shaking as he rocked harder.

Fire seemed to consume the room as he thrust in a desperate rhythm. You rolled your hips and curled your legs around his hips. One huge hand curled around your bouncing breast to squeeze fire into you. Then you began to writhe as your mouth went suddenly dry and leaked out little whimpers. His heady cadence suddenly changed. You clawed at his skin as he went faster and faster.

There was a short moment that you hovered in midair as his rough hand scraped down your side and pressed down between you to pinch that little hard bundle nerves that made you spit the pearls out with a shriek. You dug you nails into his shoulders to pull him to you as you felt that climax rip from your soul. In three short thrusts, he groaned and you felt him grind into you. Somehow you were sure that you felt every squirt from his cock.

He snarled wickedly as he pushed one more time. “You are perfect as always, my pet.”

You sighed, catching your breath. Finally, you whimpered as he collapsed beside you. Nothing was simple anymore. Nothing has been simple—even a quick lay—since Hanzo had come into your life. But as he began to nuzzle your neck, you got the courage to ask, “So... you’re getting married?”

He shrugged, his hands running over body. “Yes, my curious cat—I am getting married.” He pressed against you. “But do not fret. Nothing will change between us.”

“H-h-how could you?!”

“She is unimportant to us.” You felt him shrug and heard the expensive wool and silk move. “She is only a means to an end—an arrangement of my father’s to expand our territory. There is no reason to be concerned. I will still visit you as often as I can.” He snorted, “My men would never forgive me otherwise.”

“But what about her?”

He laughed softly. “My adorable idiot—nothing will change. She and I understand each other well enough. This is a business deal between our families. We will be married and then we will have our lives.” A hand cradled your breast idly. “She has had a lover. She even approached Genji, so I am not particularly concerned.”

He had an answer for everything and you couldn’t figure out what to say. After a while, he got up and left you, whistling as he straightened his clothes. Whether or not he had men surrounding the building, you never knew. Like every other time, he simply disappeared, leaving you alone in the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

You ended up collecting necklaces, a small watch in gold, bracelets and earrings. He brought you little gifts each time that he broke into your apartment, draping you in silver and gold and precious stones before pushing you to the bed and having his way with you. He still came into the bar, overpaying for the pittance the gang drank.

It was strange, to say the least, to have him at last bring you a small lockbox for the jewelry as he visited you. It was a dizzying pile—the pearl necklace, two gold chains with pendants, the delicate little bracelet watch you didn’t dare actually wear, a thin diamond and ruby tennis bracelet, a bracelet of jade beads, three pairs of earrings (pearls to match the necklace, a pair with sapphires, and a pair of gold loops with opals)—and you didn’t have a good night’s sleep wondering what you were supposed to do with it all. Every piece had a soft velvet bag with the name of jewelry stores embroidered on them, making you even more sure that they were genuine and expensive.

And he would strip you down and have you model the latest piece of jewelry, moments before he pushed you to your embarrassingly bad bed and....

What was it?

Not love making since you weren’t sure that you loved him and, as far as you could tell, he didn’t love you. Not rape when a part of you wanted him. Not fucking—or was it?

You had no easy answers—just a pile of jewelry, a shitty job, and a friend-with-fucked-up-benefits. And a pile of slightly smaller pile of debt because studying doesn’t come cheap except in bad novels. So no easy answers were in sight and no one to talk to because exactly what therapist or friend could give you any kind of advice on a muscular, gangster not-quite-boyfriend?

‘Don’t get killed’ seemed the first piece of advice you would give.

Then what?

So you stared at the pile of jewelry and wished you knew what was supposed to come next.

There was the inevitable announcement in the news of his marriage. You had expected to see some kind of small after the fact announcement. But there was actually a series of articles—the engagement photo, two articles on the bride going shopping for an outrageously expensive kimono of white silk with gold embroidery and seed pearl beads all over it, a third article about her picking out a dress for the parties afterwards and getting into a fight with the manageress, speculation on where the honeymoon was, a leaked article about the large diamond ring Hanzo bought, and a few gossip pieces about them all.

You couldn’t get away from news about him.

Then there was a period of about three weeks you didn’t see him. You went to work, did your best as a student, and then... did nothing. The men came in occasionally to check things out, but it was still a little less than normal. You finally got the hoard of jewelry appraised and were shocked at the total value that the man refused to say out loud, but instead wrote on a piece of paper. Then there was the one time that Genji showed up to check things out, and you served him a whiskey before he left.

You were sure you weren’t going to see him again when you saw him waltz into the bar. He took his normal place and tugged his tie as if it was choking him. “Sake.”

You had no choice—especially since your last lingering customers fled—so you served him as usual. He drank his alcohol with calm and didn’t even seem to really be focusing on it. Tino watched the sumo match and sipped his drink. The moment the tournament was over, Hanzo turned it to another Kabuki performance. Hanzo turned and watched it, drinking steadily as the colorfully dressed performers drifted across the stage.

You were not surprised to see Hanzo appear in your apartment late that night. He laid you down on the bed and again had you on the bed. You yawned wearily, expecting him to vanish again, when he simply laid down beside you and curled around you.

For some unknown time, he simply held you. You didn’t know what to do with him then—expecting he’d get up at any moment. So, you held your breath in your tense little knot, secretly enjoying his furnace warmth as you waited. Still, he only held you, occasionally patting your hair absently as if he was stroking a cat.

Finally, your toes and fingers were starting to prickle and you straightened out against him. He purred low in his chest and a strong arm curled around your waist to pull you closer to him. “You are my priceless treasure.” His lips brushed your neck. “And I am grateful for your comfort tonight.”

There was a long pause and he sighed. “What do you see when you see me?”

You didn’t know what to answer, what to say, so you settled for a muttered, “I see you.”

He stroked your side with a lingering finger. “But what do you see? Do you see someone you admire? Or respect? Do you see someone you fear?” His voice dropped to a quivery octave. “Do you look forward to seeing me?”

Your hospitality cheer spilled out automatically. “Of course.” Then you bit your lying tongue. Half lying. What did you feel when you saw him? “I mean.... I don’t know what to say.”

He nodded slowly. “I suppose I should expect that.” His fingers ran through your hair to brush it up onto the pillow. Then, before you could react to the unexpectedly gentle gesture, he moved to lay closer, with some of your hair under his cheek. “I think that I should get used to that.”

“Why?” you blurted out.

“My father is very ill,” he whispered hoarsely. “Of course, there is a lot that I cannot say, but it is causing a lot of turmoil in my... my family. And now,” he puffed out, “they are irritated at Genji. Of course... it would be my younger brother causing problems. He is exceptionally good at that.”

You let out a nervous grunt—you couldn’t quite laugh—and said, “Well, siblings can be hard.”

“You have no idea,” he hummed. “I had hoped that he would have settled down by now. Apparently I was wrong.” He squeezed you. “And there is nothing that I can do to stop it.”

After another long silence, he chuckled low in your ear. “Do you like the jewelry?”

“Ummm... yes? But it’s not like I have anywhere I feel safe wearing them, so they don’t get out much.”

“Ahh.... Well... it is of little consequence if they go missing, I suppose. So wear them when you like.”

You gaped in the darkness. “How can you say that?! There’s thousands—!”

“It does not matter,” he whispered. There was a tense pause and he added in a flippant tone, “Whenever my fiancée decides to argue, I take back one of them.” Your mind spun in circles trying to process what he was saying. “I would rather give them to you anyway.”

“Y-y-you took them from her?! And gave them to me?”

He laughed as you writhed and tried to kick him. “So indignant pet? Why—when she has more and will get more?” He chuckled again. “I can assure you that she has no care for your welfare.”

“That poor woman! And you are... what? Some kind of gigolo? You’re disgusting!”

“She is an arranged marriage.” He hissed as he grabbed your wrists. “She has no interest in me any more than I have in her. She is part of a business transaction—an unappetizing sub-clause to gaining some more territory.”

You shuddered, suddenly cold at his impassive tone. “You never.. never felt anything for her?”

“How could I?” His hand drifted to your hips. “I did not want her in the first place. She is there to make my father happy and content that there will be grandchildren. Once she is pregnant, I will be grateful to wash my hands of her.”

“What?”

“If only Genji would settle down! Become a leader with me rather than a thorn in my side. Is it too much to ask?” He laughed into your hair. “It apparently is too much to ask—just as it was too much to hope that he could have one of his girlfriends get pregnant. Then at least Sojiro would have his grandchildren and then I would not have to bed her.”

You sighed heavily. “I do not get you at all! Don’t you care?”

“My poor little pet. You are trapped on the outside of the clan, just as I am trapped on the inside. We can only have this—some few hours when we can be together.” He stroked you again. “Now, I have to go.”

He stood up and got dressed. “If you can find it in your heart, pray for us.”


	7. Chapter 7

The newspapers were full of the news of his marriage. It was going to be the spectacle of the year, in one of the largest temples with a dizzying array of starlets and celebrities and local dignitaries. And then a list of notorious people who apparently were too powerful for the police to corner. The cake, the dresses, the musicians and reception were from the finest, most dazzling designers and artists. The cake design was already pictured in a magazine.

The wedding was enough to make the papers and newscasts by itself. Then, the unthinkable happened at the reception—Sojiro Shimada collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. There was a huge, front-page picture of Hanzo in his most formal clothes, standing beside the gurney with EMTs taking him away.

You stared at the newspapers and articles until you felt like your eyes were bleeding. Then you crumpled them up and tossed them away. Whatever he was doing, maybe his blushing bride would keep him out of your hair for a while. So you studied and worked, worked and studied. Long hours and even longer periods of wondering what was going on in his life.

You were crumpling up another announcement of the nuptials weeks later when he came in. You had never seen him looking so distraught, so strained. Cousin Tino, Ko, Moon—everyone was tense and scowling. You fell into the usual routine so quickly it was breathtaking. Water and chips and drinks and heating sake.

“How are you?” you asked softly. “Things good?”

Hanzo growled and snatched the sake cup up. “Better now that I can finally take a minute to relax.” You frowned and poured him his drink. “I have been working constantly since I got back from Fiji.”

You gave him a fake smile as you poured him another drink. Fiji? He’d been on a sun drenched beach with crystal blue water? You couldn’t help but scowl. “Have fun on Fiji?”

“Hardly. I had no idea there were that many boutiques in the world, let alone that they would be that interesting to anyone. We did go to the Garden of the Sleeping Giant, but then it seemed like she would not stop complaining that her shoes hurt her feet. Why in the name of all the ancestors did she wear shoes with such ridiculous high heels then?”

You felt bad for her then. What had she done to deserve such a creep for a husband? He didn’t even bother with a ring. It made you feel a bit more sympathetic to someone you knew nothing about, even if Hanzo marrying her seemed to make her more like a criminal than an innocent bystander. 

“At any rate, the whole thing is over.” He shrugged out of his costly suit coat. “It is a relief that we can finally put it behind us.” He finally looked up at you and tapped his tiny cup on the bar top. “Let us drink to that.”

You took out the extra cup and sighed as he filled it. Taking it up, you toasted each other and you took a sip as he guzzled his. “So, you went to Fiji. Anything else?”

He nodded. “My father is finally back from the hospital. I suppose that is good news as well.”

“You suppose it is good news?”

He grimaced and rapped the cup for you to refill it. “He is very ill. He should probably be in the hospital, but for now he has been deemed well enough to be home.” His laughter was short and grim. “Personally, I think that the hospital was entirely tired of his scolding and temper. So, they sent him home.”

You leaned forward slightly. “I... I’m sorry—I guess.”

“I am glad to be here. I am allowed to relax and forget that he is still ill at home.” His eyes were warm and stared at you. “I can relax and forget that my brother is still wandering through the bars and parties, too.”

“How is Genji, anyway?” you asked automatically.

He seemed less inclined to burst out into a jealous rage than to unload his troubles for a while. “My father is very ill. It makes him tired and when he is tired, he gets upset. It is hard, I suppose, for him to not be able to keep working like he had been.” His smile turned wry and thoughtful. “You did not know him—but he could work more than sixty hours in a week when he needed to. All night if he needed to. Now he has to rest, to nap and to most of all completely retire. He is bored, I guess, and irritated that he no longer can run things. And when he feels like no one is paying enough attention to him, he get angry and starts shouting.

“So, I work as much as I can. And Genji goes trawling through the bars and clubs and parties. I suppose we both want to avoid it all. I do not want to see him—to remember him—as sick and weak and breathing with machines. He certainly does not want us to see him like that.”

You nodded slowly, not sure you wanted to feel such a human connection to him. But such heartfelt sorrow made him seem like just-a-man and made your heart soften and warm towards him. It seemed that even the Shimada could not avoid these everyday heartaches. “I’m sorry. It sounds like a mess.”

“I am glad to be here to relax.”

“How’s your wife?”

“She is not particularly happy that we are back at home, rather than going to Paris fashion shows this week. She is also not happy to be home and in charge of my father’s nurses and so on.” He shook his head. “I would guess that she thought that she would not have to do this—none of us did, of course—so she goes through the parties and dinners and so on. During the days, she seems to have an endless schedule of all sorts of silly things.”

You shrugged. “Like what?”

“She does all kinds of things. Laser hair removal. Hair and nails. Skin bleaching. Makeup and massages.” He looked up at you and drank another swallow of sake. “Do you know she has a personal trainer?” You must have given him an incredulous look because he chuckled and continued, “I know! I could train her and give her whatever she wants.”

You poured him more. “Umm... I guess that makes sense.”

“I could train you, even.” He swallowed his drink again as you blushed and gave a nervous shake of your head. “Whatever you would like. A marathon? A triathlon?” He smirked and tilted his cup towards you. “I have some experience with archery. Swords, if you like them.”

“Uhh...,” you mumbled.

“It might be fun.” He closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them again with a sigh. “You might like it—if you give it a try.”

Thankfully, his phone rang before you could think up a reply. He snorted and answered it and you were turning away when you heard the yakuza shout and his voice shake. Then, he bolted up and ran out the door. The men went running out after him in a mad scramble.

Then there was nothing.

You closed up and went back to the apartment. Surprisingly, no one was there. Not that night or the next. Nor the next. In fact, there was nothing for more than two weeks. You were even looking at the papers for some kind of news, but there was nothing there either. So you were stuck patiently waiting for something to happen more than the occasional run in from one of the men.


	8. Chapter 8

You were alone in your apartment when he finally reappeared. You were just about to go to sleep when he crept in. You gasped to see his clumsy, staggering gait and the blood on his dark clothes and skin. His hair was a wild tangle and there were rips in his clothing.

“You are here,” he muttered thickly. “I am so glad.”

You couldn’t help but stand and guide him to the bed. You had a small shoebox of first aid stuff—some band-aids, a half-empty tube of antibiotic ointment, an ankle bandage, and an a small bottle of burn ointment—and brought it out. Then, you ran to get a wet washcloth. He nodded his thanks and wiped clumsily at his skin.

“What happened, Hanzo?” He sighed and shrugged, looking away. “You look like you were hit by a—.”

“Dragon,” he whispered. “It... it is fine, my pet. Just a hard part of my job.” He wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “I am....”

“Yes? What?”

“I am lost,” he whispered. “I never meant for this to happen. I thought that we were unstoppable. I thought that we were... united and the clan was behind us.” Tears were in his voice as he croaked out, “We thought that we were unstoppable. After my... my father died, we thought that—. I thought that we were the leaders—strong and invincible—and that I could mask his... his shortcomings.”

“Whose? What are you talking about?!” He gripped you with terrifying force. His fingertips dug into your skin until you were about to scream. Somehow you didn’t dare. He was dangerous, violent. Memories of him coming in with blood on his skin made you bite your lip and try to stay calm. At least calm enough to keep him talking. Finally, you managed to whisper, “What are you talking about?”

“Genji,” he hissed into your ear. “I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop it.”

“What about Genji?!”

He hissed again. You felt shivers going through his hands, his body, like a mountain cliff shifting ever so slightly before the edge gave way to a rockslide. “Genji. He—you know him. He has always.... You know him.”

“Know what?! I’ve barely spoken to him—you know that!” Your cheeks turned a hectic red. “You made sure that I... I didn’t. Or don’t you remember that?”

He shook his head against your body. “You know how he is. How he... was.”

Your whole body turned cold as ice. Entirely, completely numb. Even your toes were cramping. “‘Was’?”

“I tried,” he insisted hoarsely. “I tried to protect him. I thought if I could work hard enough. That we’d even out somehow. Average out.” He sighed, “Like in math or statistics, add us up and divide by two. The clan would be happy—the same average work was done, the same average money coming in. I do not know why that could not... could not be enough.”

A loud pounding on the walls made you jump and start to cry almost silently. Your voice was almost quiet as you finally ventured to ask, “What happened?”

“Genji... he is—.” Hanzo loosened his grip and then tightened it again. His voice dulled to a low rumble, “I... I could not stop them.”

“Who?”

“The clan. The elders. They decided that he needed to be killed.”

“Why?!”

“He has always... been Genji. Has always been a playboy. Been a gambler. Been more interested in street racing and back alley fighting. You know how he has been.”

You weren’t sure that you wanted to know. It was probably something you’d hate that you even knew. But it was like looking at a wreck on the highway—you couldn’t look away. “So—? What happened?”

You were right—you didn’t want to know. And you regretted asking as soon as he answered.

“They gave us a choice. Either he fall in line, or else.” He was shaking again, even harder. “He was never... never going to be a hard-core, company man. Everyone knew that. It is not in his nature. It never was in his nature. He wanted to live and let live. Let go of the past. It was supposed to be enough for me to... to do the hard work, to do the books and numbers and management and then let him do less. He could handle the night jobs—go to the clubs and streets as.... a reminder of our presence. Our power. Just pick up the protection money, the bribes.

“My father was appalled. He knew that Genji was the best of our clan. And he never understood why Genji was not more like.. like him. Why Genji was going to be at clubs and with wild women instead of doing the work of the clan. But when the elders complained, he simply said that he was a young man and naturally young men did wild things.”

None of these things made sense, but it was clear Hanzo needed to say them. “What happened to Genji?!”

“I went out.” He pushed his face into your hair. “Moon was given the order, but he came to me to tell me.” Whispering, he added, “I gave him a drink to his success and I dumped a whole bag of stuff into it. When he collapsed, I locked him in the closet. Then I went out to find my brother.”

He swallowed heavily. “I was going to.. to try to talk with him. He said.. that he was going to leave. That I did not need him weighing me down. Holding me back. I told him he was stupid to think that. That we needed to figure out a better division of labor and it would be fine. We just needed to show a few bumps and bruises and be properly penitent for the elders and they would agree a peaceful solution was best.”

You shook your head wildly. “I don’t know that I want to know.”

He gave a chuckle that spoke volumes of dry, bitterness. “We fought. Like he and I have always fought.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I finally had him cornered, wounded enough that he was listening to reason—.”

“Then what happened?”

“I did not know we were being followed.” There was a king silence and then a whispered, “It was... a-a-a clean kill.”

“What?”

“Another Shimada ninja. Sent to kill Moon when Genji was taken care of. Unless Genji lived to take care of Moon himself, then he was to kill Genji instead. He threw a poisoned knife....” His eyes narrowed and became impossibly cold. “Either way, Genji was to die.”

You shuddered, feeling that cold freeze your limbs. “And then what?”

“He got greedy.”

“I... don’t understand.”

“Overwatch put a huge bounty on us. Anyone with any information to lead to our capture and they have deep pockets.” He shifted clumsily and pulled you into his lap to wrap his body around you. It was too much heat around your cold body, though and only made you shake more. “He was going to carry out his orders, then he was going to collect the bounty. It was going to be clean—no witnesses and no survivors. If I had not stopped Moon, he would have succeeded and likely he would have collected the bounty on Genji and disappeared himself.”

“Is he...?”

“He died without honor.” Hanzo growled in a wolffish way. “And no one is left to mourn him.”

You did not dare breathe.

“And I will take the blame.” You waited, trying not to hear the catch in his breathing as he hugged you tighter. “Already someone has called in Overwatch, trading immunity for cooperation in the ‘mysterious disappearance’ of both the Shimada brothers. Conveniently, I am missing and blamed for the death of my brother, sending agents of Overwatch scurrying around like rats to look for me.

“I would guess that they will soon be looking for me. They already have Genji’s body. He cannot even have a proper burial. He cannot even be buried with his ancestors—beside his father.” He shuddered and you barely heard the sob behind you. “It is my fault that his spirit will never find rest.”

You stayed there, feeling limp as a wet handkerchief. Genji was.. gone? Killed. Who knew what shape Moon was in? And now Hanzo...? Hanzo was falling apart like a china display in an earthquake. He was.. even more wanted, if that was possible. Wasn’t he Japan’s most wanted?

Finally, he slowed his shuddering and began simply rocking you. When he managed to speak again, he whispered, “I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I wanted you to leave, too. The clan—my men—will come looking for you when they realize that I am not in any of the normal safe houses.” You blinked nervously. “It will take a day at most.”

“Then you’d better get out of here!”

“Before the end of the hour,” he nodded. “I am going to disappear for a while. But you will be in danger until they are satisfied that I am not in your life anymore.” There was a shuffle behind you and he tossed a packet of pills to the corner of the bed beyond your reach. “And they will be here soon.”

“What is that?!”

“It is in everyone’s interest to not have another generation of Shimada children to fight over.”

You stared at the packet of pills. It was a huge elephant in the room—something that you did not ever want to admit to. You hadn’t even admitted it to yourself. The thought of a child gave you ever increasing chills, even when surrounded by a huge man who seemed to boiling with the rage and grief and whatever else he was feeling.

He must have spent over an hour in seething silence before he finally whispered, “Let me get you something to drink.” You were going to refuse, until he said, “Some tea. Something to get you to relax.”

You finally nodded. He whispered, “I will fix you some hot tea.” There was a grim snort, and he added, “I know the way to the bathroom down the hall. If you will get up, I will get you some hot water.”

You staggered to your feet, out of his lap and reached for the lone chair. You had to get him out of here and away. You’d go to the police. Or to Overwatch. Or something else, somewhere else. You’d run. No degree or job—especially not in that shitty bar—was worth this. As soon as he was on his feet, you would order him out of here.

Everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

You blinked anxiously, looking at the unfamiliar room. There was a sour, chalky taste in your mouth and your head ached like you had never felt. The room was too bright, too well lit, and too silent.

When you raised your hand to your head, you were surprised that the bed was not squealing beneath you. Where were you? You stared blankly at the tube and needle taped to your arm, then at the bag hanging just above you. Then you stared at the boxes and screens around you, struggling to bring them into focus.

It took several minutes to figure out the screens. The fuzzy lines and numbers resolved into sharp focus. You were in a hospital bed, with the rails up and two bags of clear fluid feeding you. One bag had simply a printed barcode sticker. The other had a repeating blue-type saying “Saline Vitamin/Electrolyte Solution”.

A heavily robed and masked nurse came in with an electronic pad. “Hello. You are awake, finally.” She checked your monitors and scanned the barcode on the unmarked IV. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Hurt,” you whispered. “And sore and I don’t want to be here.”

“Well, miss. You’re really lucky to be here.” She read the pad. “You came in with a concussion and you had something wicked in your system.”

You let out a scream at the memory of those pills on your bed. But the image went hazy and your whole head throbbed. “What happened to me?”

She sighed and clucked softly. “You had a bad time of it the past few days.” Her eyes were wide and concerned. “According to this, you were brought in with your purse. You were unresponsive. You had a huge knot on your head and even when we tried to revive you, you were just... well, mumbling.” Her eyes went soft. “Nothing too weird. Just the usual stuff. So we have done CAT scans, MRI. We went through concussion care and here you are.”

“What happened?”

“Well... the best we can put together is that you found a burglar in your apartment, he panicked and attacked you. You fought him off of you, escaped and got to the street where a man helped you into a cab and gave the Omnic driver enough money to get you here. You lost consciousness on the way and, of course, all of the Omnic drivers are required to summon emergency services and proceed to the nearest hospital emergency and ambulance entrance. We of course began tending you as soon as you were brought into the emergency room.”

“Who...?”

“We don’t know much more than that, unfortunately. The police went to your apartment to check it out, but it was torn apart. There was some damage and any electronics you had were long gone.” She tapped her pad and frowned. “According to the police report, there was even a lockbox that was damaged and empty.... There were numerous prints, but no unexpected ones. Just yours and your... ahh... boyfriend’s.” She flushed and looked everywhere but at you. “Your neighbors and landlord said that you had a steady relationship with a... uhh... gentleman.”

That sapped your strength just thinking about it, and you went gratefully back to sleep.

The next thing you knew, you were waking up again. Different nurses and doctors came and left, assuring you that you were recovering. Every question seemed to lead to dead ends. The man who helped you to the cab was a jogger who came through the neighborhood around the same time every day. The Omnic driver was hailed on the street, rather than called, so there was no call to trace. The driver was also returning from a trip three blocks away—a couple on the way home from an anniversary dinner—so it was entirely random that the cab was coming down your street at all.

Your purse was thankfully intact and you had your wallet, insurance cards, identity card and you dumb, cheap phone. The hospital had rummaged through it all already to start the intake paperwork and to send a policeman to your apartment. Of course, you never had Hanzo’s number, but probably a half-dozen people probably knew about the Shimada man’s interest in you. But, of course, the police had more important things to do than to exhaustively investigate a minor theft—especially if you were involved with the powerful yakuza.

Which left you alone.

You read the news idly while waiting for yet another series of tests, and saw the tiny obituary. “Genji Shimada, younger son of Sojiro and Aoi Shimada, was found dead at 2237 local time east of the Abe Memorial Park. Genji Shimada is survived by older brother, Hanzo Shimada and his wife.” Nothing else. No articles about his notorious career, his infamous family. No gossip reports about his many girlfriends or anyone he left behind. Nothing about Hanzo.

It seemed especially galling that it was a stock standard, fill-in-the-blank obituary rather than something that might have been written by an actual person.

You were discharged with a list of precautions and instructions. You had a full recovery from the concussion—luckily—and there was a list of drugs they had found in your system in eighty syllable names. You shook to think that you had been given drugs, and counted your lucky stars that none of them were illegal—you thought. You found the package of pills Hanzo had tossed out in your purse, and the complicated chemical name was not on the discharge papers, which forced you to summon the nurse.

The gruff looking male nurse bustled in with a pile of papers and three pads juggling in his hands. “How are you doing? How can I help you?”

You jumped a bit at the deep rumble and flinched when your voice squeaked, “Am I...? Was I—?” You held out the box of pills. “Can you tell me?”

He snorted in a sort of a friendly way and then shuffled things around to pull up your chart on one of the pads. “Well... that’s a common—.”

“Yeah, I know what it is. But... am I pregnant?”

He leaned over and stared at the unopened package. Then he sank behind the pad. “According to this, you were not pregnant when you were admitted.”

You felt tears fill your eyes. Hanzo was not regular in appearing to you. And with your busy and irregular schedule, God knew that your periods were equally irregular. It shouldn’t be a surprise. You weren’t sure if you were relieved, disappointed or what. Whether or not you were relieved that you hadn’t needed the pills. Whether or not you would have taken them if you had been pregnant.

Who knew at this rate?

You collapsed on the bed again. You were unable to even think now. You couldn’t eat the insipid and plain hospital dinner. You couldn’t eat breakfast. Nothing could make your brain stop going over the questions and your confusion because you couldn’t find any answers. It was bad enough that a doctor came in to do an evaluation to be sure you weren’t suffering any brain damage.

Finally, you were discharged. You apartment was exactly as you had been told. There were things everywhere—clothes on the floor and the bed ripped apart. Your few papers were scattered. The lockbox was open and turned upside down and empty. Nothing was in its place.

Everything inside collapsed again as you realized you had been robbed.


	10. Chapter 10

A week later, you were surprised to find a pair of darkly uniformed officers on your doorstep. A tall blond man with surprisingly blue eyes, a leather briefcase, and a blue-and-white uniform so crisp that it hurt to look at it. He pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open to show an identification card.

“The name is Jonathon Erik Morrison,” he grunted. “I am Strike Commander and with Overwatch. My agency number is 443-Alpha-99-Beta-Zed-Theta—0069 and can be confirmed at your convenience with the international Overwatch identification number. Could we please come in and ask you a few questions?”

You scowled at him and let him in. Not that you had much of a choice—there were guards at the hallway, too. He glanced around at the tiny apartment with a cool expression. “So, I understand that you have been... involved with someone of interest.” He watched as you shakily sat down in the daybed. He took out small, flat disk and clicked the edge. A small hologram of Hanzo appeared in a translucent 3D form in the middle of his hand. “Do you want to tell me about him?”

You looked nervously at the little image and the forbidding commander. Your gape mouthed silence was enough to make him click the gadget and show an image of Genji. Strike Commander Morrison stared at you and then put the object away in the briefcase. He took out a pad and looked at it and then you again.

“I understand that one Hanzo Shimada has visited your apartment and your place of employment numerous times. Can you confirm this?” You stared up at him and nodded as you felt your blood rush to your feet. “Can you confirm that you and one Hanzo Shimada were involved in a relationship?”

You were almost paralyzed as you nodded again. “What do you want?”

“You confirm that you and Hanzo Shimada were in a relationship? That you knew him. Perhaps even intimately?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Your cheeks felt flaming hot and the tips of your ears tingled. “He’s not here. I haven’t seen him for over a week. So, what do you want?!”

“Ma’am,” he nodded. For a moment, he gave you a puppy dog look that made him look like a young Boy Scout about to recite the oath and get a merit badge. “I am trying to confirm that you knew Hanzo Shimada, that you knew his younger brother, Genji Shimada and that you can confirm certain intelligence regarding the Shimada yakuza. In return, you will receive protection.” He looked you over and then looked around the room pointedly. “There is also a reward for information that will lead to the confirmed location of Hanzo Shimada.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

Morrison nodded and tapped the screen twice. “But you did—at one time—know where could might be found?”

You held up your hands slowly. “Look—he would show up at my bar every so often and... we’d have a good time. Then he’d leave. He wasn’t what you’d call ‘good with relationships’.”

His reserve cracked slightly with a smirk. “The confirmation is recorded. You say that he would visit your bar?”

“He would visit occasionally. There wasn’t any kind of pattern or rhyme or reason—he’d just show up.” You shrugged helplessly. “Then he’d show up in the apartment.”

“Is there anything else?” He cocked his head curiously. “Why would he show up at your bar? What was special about your bar that he showed up?”

“Nothing. We’re just a piece of shit bar.” You scowled and scratched your head, trying to figure out anything. “There’s nothing there. It’s not even worth robbing except for the new television and stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was... stupid. Some guys came in wanting to talk to Hanzo—,” you glared at him, “and when I couldn’t even call him, they began to rip apart the place.”

“Do you recall who they were?”

“Something Dragons. I don’t remember.”

One of the darkly clothed figures murmured softly and you heard a metallic, feminine voice whispering. Morrison only nodded and tapped the screen again. “I see. Continue.”

“They tore apart the pachinko machine. And then when Hanzo got there, he—and Genji and Moon and Ko and...the others—chased them away. Then he—Hanzo—he went out and did something. He called someone and called in some favors or something and the next day he installed the new television, sound system, pachinko machines and so on.” You shrugged again. “But, it was nothing like a relationship. We never went to the movies or anything like that.”

“And Genji Shimada?”

“I only saw him a few times in the bar.” Your whole face turned red. “And Hanzo... told me to not talk to him.”

“I see.” Morrison frowned at the pad thoughtfully. “And then.... is there anything else?”

Your gaze fell to the empty lockbox. “Not really.” He followed your gaze. Waving a finger, one of them got to the box. You never locked it again, so it opened to show the dust inside. “What was that?”

You only shrugged silently.

“I see.” He dropped everything into the briefcase and snapped it closed. “Miss—it is ‘miss’, isn’t it?—I will need you to come with me.”

“What?! This is 2067! I do not have to go with you.”

“Ma’am—I regret to inform you that there are confirmed security concerns regarding your relationships with Hanzo and Genji Shimada—.”

A sudden, loud bang echoed outside, making you jump and all of the men duck and pull out weapons. Morrison cursed under his breath and pulled you against him. “Athena—what happened?” The metallic voice muttered again and you managed to get a glimpse of a tiny, white earpiece. “Athena—find us an exit and call Reyes for backup.”

You couldn’t help but screech as there was another boom from outside that made the floor flutter. Morrison pulled you closer and the darkly clothed agents surrounded you as they pulled you down through the stairwell. There were sharp bangs and hissing zaps around you as you both were hustled to a large, boxy vehicle that defied description. A blonde woman was sitting in the transport vehicle as everyone hustled inside and slammed the door.

She smiled at you from her bolted down stool. “Hello. Guete Morge. Gruezi. Buenos Dias. Guten Tag.” She cocked her head and began tapping a screen mounted to the wall of the vehicle. “According to your record, you speak English? Is that correct?”

You nodded slowly, staring at her as she smiled again and kept typing.

“I am with Overwatch Medical Corps and I am here to help. Do you require medical assistance?”

You shook your head in confusion. “Err...no.”

She smiled and nodded at you as she picked up a small earpiece and stuck it in her ear. “Athena says that we have minimal injuries and no casualties. That is good.” You blinked up at her and she continued. “We are going to a safe location where you will have protection.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that solemn pronouncement. You hadn’t been in much trouble until they had shown up. “What happened?”

“According to your record, you are involved with an active investigation and may have actionable intelligence.” She waved somewhat wearily. “I’d say that you definitely need protection. Do you know who might be willing to bomb two cars and storm a building?” Without waiting for your response, she gave you a small smirk. “Of course, you have the right to remain silent and to have legal representation for any questioning, in accordance with international treaty and Overwatch procedures.”

So, you remained silent as the windowless vehicle drove on and on. At last, there was a brief stop where the driver rolled down his window and showed a badge, then there was a rumble as you were driven through. You were taken through to an anonymous looking three story building to what appeared to be a small conference room with only a door. A gray suited and gray haired man bustled in and advised you of your rights and privileges, and offered to be with you during questioning. Morrison showed up a short time later and asked the same questions again and you had basically the same answers—in short, nothing extraordinary.

You were given some basic accommodations and a small card that you could go to the commissary and get food and snacks. The bar owner was informed that you were not coming back and one of Morrison’s assistants stopped long enough to tell you that your apartment was being packed up and the boxes were placed into storage. The uniformed man who followed you nearly constantly was apparently just a plus.

So it went on—for over two weeks—you’d get breakfast, meet your legal rep around mid morning, eat lunch going over your rights and “position”, get questioned over the afternoon and then get dinner. At least you got a working television and an alarm clock and the room was better with thicker walls and a real bed and chairs and even a table.

Finally, you were advised that you would be relocated. It wasn’t even a question—you could refuse, but you would be put back into the same location and who knew if the Shimada or whoever else would be after you again. So, you selected to randomly be relocated to Switzerland. Morrison and Overwatch dutifully helped you find a small studio apartment near the base, along with a bar tending job and then helping you to find a local associate’s degree at the community college.

Starting over was hard, no matter what.


	11. Chapter 11

You were celebrating eight month of successful relocation when you saw the cyborg come in. He was heavily plated in titanium painted a dull silver and black, with red lights. There was some kind of fringe of hair sticking up from the band around the top plate. His bare shoulder—who knew if it was real or one of those new Pseureal Omnic things—looked muscular and lean and showed scratches. His eyes were so bloodshot they appeared red as they darted around the collected patrons. As soon as he saw you, his eyes narrowed and you saw him curl up slightly as if he was going to pounce.

You nodded absently and shrugged off the feeling that you knew him. Omnics were very common here and people seemed to constantly be coming and going. Omnicorp prosthesis were common. Who knew why you suddenly were sure he was staring at you? Why you were sure you had seen him before?

He was furious. You knew he was, but you couldn’t place why.

Thankfully, he was determined to stay in the back of the bar, with his back to you. And, you were too busy to worry overly. The bar was filled with patrons—both Overwatch, guests of various militaries, civilians and contractors—and you had no time to worry about anything more than the dozen or so orders you were trying to pour.

You were finishing some orders at the service bar when you saw the cyborg glaring at you from across the room.

And then, for the next month, you’d see him come in. He’d take a seat at the back of the bar, then he’d glare at you until you left. It made you self-conscious, almost paranoid, because you felt like you were being watched all the time. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, even if you knew that it was only lit up glass shelves of liquor bottles behind you.

You never knew why—what it was that made the cyborg glare at you so. It cast a pall over your days. Even when you got your degree, you felt vaguely alarmed and more than a bit chilled in your polyester black robe. You went out with some fellow students, got a nicer dinner, then went home, sure that someone was following you, but unable to pinpoint exactly why.

Some ten months later, you looked up and realized that the cyborg was not in your bar. For a whole week, he wasn’t there to make you nervous. You were going to relax—maybe he had gone off somewhere and found a new bartender to glare at—but then he reappeared, even more furious than ever as he watched you clock in.

The whole place was silent in a sort of terrifying way, now that you were looking around. Everyone was staring at the large televisions overhead. You looked at them all and everyone was just staring. You set up your workstation in dead silence, hoping the storm would break and people would be normal again. That feeling of paranoia curdled the air around you.

You were reaching for the garnish tray when there was a tap on the bar. Your cyborg admirer was there—at the bar!—glaring at you. Then, silently, he pointed to the television. You glanced up—not seeing the headlines, just the talking heads—and then dug out the remote. You were going to hand it to him, when you got another glimpse of the television. He didn’t even need to tell you to turn it up.

“...Hanamura is still in mourning today as the thirty-five men found murdered five days ago were laid to rest. You may recall that morning when we found them dead—twenty four at Hanamura, nine in the streets, and two at the police station. Immediately, this peaceful neighborhood was put under curfews and local SWAT dispatched to investigate.” The screen showed some uniformed men in front of a Japanese police station. You stopped breathing as you recognized the station, if not the armored men in front of it. “Everyone has dropped everything to work on this case.”

A suited blond man nodded as the view changed and then nodded as he tapped the papers on the fake desk in front of him. “I see that, Nancy. Can you give us any details about the victims?”

A woman in a tan trench coat and a microphone appeared in a box beside the man. “So far, the police are still investigating the crimes and are reluctant to draw too many conclusions so far. They have grouped the deaths into three groups—the police officer deaths, the nine street deaths and then the deaths at Hanamura estate itself.” The scene changed to show a bunch of body bags on grass with an elaborate, traditional porch in the background. “The only thing that has been concluded is that all of these deaths have been caused by a blade or blades, but whether they are talking about knives or... or swords or something else is unclear.”

The man reappeared. “Swords?”

“As I said, the details are not clear. The deaths seem to have been caused by blades or something similar. The police are not ruling out that this is the result of gang violence.”

“Gang violence? Are they concerned with a specific gang?”

“As you already know, the murders at the Hanamura estate were allegedly all members of the Shimada-kai, although we cannot confirm this is the case. However, that does not necessarily explain the other eleven deaths, who were not directly related to the Shimada. All that we do know for sure is that they died in the course of approximately three hours while the Shimada family was away on vacation in Osaka.”

“I see, Nancy. Have the police identified any suspects in this attack or attacks?”

“Well, as you can imagine, the whole province is stunned by the sheer numbers and police are reluctant to even speculate on the number of people it would take to carry out this brutal attack. So far, while the murders appear to be more or less the same modus operandi, it is almost unimaginable that only one person is responsible. But, given the infamy of the Shimada family, it cannot be ruled out as simply a case of extreme gang-on-gang violence.”

“Anything else?”

“Channel 432–WARL—will continue to report as the situation unfolds. We are going to be reporting later today at the memorial services of Officer Aoi Watanabe and Detective Yoshi Tanaka. Their families have asked that the press keep a distance of 500 feet away from the temples and to allow them privacy to mourn their losses. The Shimada spokesman—Koichi Shimada—has informed us that the estate and properties are closed to visitors and also asked for a respectful distance of 1000 feet while they mourn their family. And we here at WARL would like to offer our sympathies and respect to those who have died.”

You heard nothing else as the newscaster switched and suddenly began reporting on an accident in Britain with a project that they only called “Slipstream”. As the picture of a bushy headed British woman with large brown eyes appeared, you finally drew in a deep breath. 

You had seen both policemen. Officer Watanabe liked whiskey sours despite having the sweetest personality and a ready laugh. The detective alternated between vodka martinis and and cranberry vodkas. When the bartenders weren’t looking, he would playfully try to reach for the grenadine. If he got caught, he’d smile and wander off. If he didn’t, he’d put a bill or two underneath the bottle for the bartender to “find”. He’d then laugh and say it was all he had to keep the bottle from sticking to the bar. He had spent several years in the U.S., which accounted for the smiling man’s occasional “lapses” into tipping. You couldn’t stop your mind from picturing the two men.

When you finally woke up to someone waving some bills, demanding a round of shots, the cyborg was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

2068 whistled through as you finally got yourself straightened out. You got yourself a better apartment, some basic electronics like a nice television and computer. You were settling down and trying to figure out what you were trying to do with your life. You couldn’t see yourself as an office worker—at least not full time—and you weren’t sure you were able to do much other than bar tending.

You weren’t keeping track of the days as they sped on past until you saw the cyborg in your bar again. He lurked in the back of the bar silently, sitting with his sword on the table in front of the two drinks he had ordered. You felt a little worried, but he didn’t move a muscle all night as you filled drinks and got people their snacks.

You were about to forget he was there when he crooked his finger towards one of the waitresses. She danced forward and you were amused to see her bring him a remote for one of the large televisions. He took it and changed channels quickly.

You were going back to making some drinks for the tables when the scene changed from a stock report to a map of Japan. There was a little red dot and you gasped to see it was labeled “Hanamura” and then a smaller dot at that town. You all but dropped your bottle to see them talking, to see the words “multiple murders” tick past.

When even the newscasters had milked it for all it was worth and switched to some kind of interview of some crackpot author who had published another book that Overwatch was too big, too intrusive, too invasive, he stood quietly and picked up his sword.

He stalked up to you with metallic steps. Finally he got right up next to you. You shrank back, but there was nowhere to go. His eyes were bloodshot and seemed to stare directly into your brain.

“Did you see that?” he hissed. “The news?”

“Umm... yeah,” you whispered.

“And do you think? Or don’t you care?!”

There was a moment you couldn’t think what he was supposed to be referring to. “A-a-a-bout the news?”

He glowered and reached for his sword, but the bulky security man stepped right up to him. “Hey, bud. Let the lady alone—she’s just doing her job.”

“Yeah—I’ll bet she is.” His voice was a harsh metallic grate through the Omnic devices. “Just doing her job.”

With that, he stalked out.


	13. Chapter 13

Holidays came and went and 2069 burst in full of promise. You were able to graduate to a senior bartender and, despite the Glowering Cyborg, you enjoyed your job. You were on track to become a trainer since one of them was leaving on paternity leave at the end of the quarter. It was going to be a nice promotion and you would be a little better off for the bump in pay.

The Glowering Cyborg stayed there, watching you from the back of the bar.

You never even really got his name. Oh, you got nicknames—the Cyborg, the Borg, the ninja, and various expletive laden variations. You got a bit of his story—he had been transferred to the Swiss office from one of the other branches and was the pet patient of Dr. Ziegler—but not much more personal than that. He would vanish every so often, and then reappear to glower at you. He had to beat off women who were curious and wanted a hookup.

Then, he burst in after another absence. The entire bar—even Winston’s merry team that was celebrating a new chrono-something-or-other that he had perfected—went silent as the metallic man stomped in. You shivered as he locked his brooding gaze on you and stomped to the bar. You shivered and backed up against the shelves of booze as he came forward.

His voice was no less harsh and metallic as he grated out, “Remote. Now.”

Your eyes went wide and you handed it to him. He seemed even more familiar now, but it had to be because you had seen him for over a year at this point. He tuned the television to another newscast.

“This is WRAL reporting live here outside the Hanamura estate. The seventeen murders tonight have added another gory chapter to the infamous history.” The blonde woman looked dazed and almost faint as she talked into the microphone. You couldn’t see anything behind her—just a rainy and foggy background that could have been anywhere. “The police are currently scouring the area for their investigation. There is no word right now of who or what has spurred this attack. If you have any information, please notify the police or the Interpol tip line at—.”

The cyborg’s hand crushed the remote, making the channels jump randomly, as he left.

Winston watched him with a suddenly solemn face as everyone else stared into their drinks. You frowned and scrambled to find another remote to being setting the televisions back to their normal channels. The gorilla carefully picked his way up to the bar and peered at you through his wire-rimmed glasses as your hands shook and you tried to set up your next drinks.

“He is angry,” Winston mused.

“I guess so—no one has ever destroyed a remote before.” You tried to give him a smile. “At least, not by crushing it. Now... we’ve lost three because people have spilled drinks on them.”

He gave you a smile. “That is more truth than poetry.”

You smiled back at him. He was so careful, so quiet and so polite. A true gentle giant. “It’s true. The last one was from that big cowboy—.”

“Jesse McCree.”

“—he was caterwauling about how bad the world was treating him and started singing. Then he jerked and dumped a stein of beer on top of the last one.” You chuckled as you grabbed the bottle of banana liqueur. “Poof goes a remote.”

He nodded slowly. Looking around, he nodded at the team sitting at the table. “I suppose so.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully and stared at the mangled electronics. “Perhaps it would be a good thing to invent a new, waterproof remote.”

You laughed at him. “As if you’d waste your time making something like that when you’ve got exciting things to do.”

“Indeed.”

You looked around at the bar as people slowly got back to normal—talking, drinking and bobbing along with the low hum of the music system or watching the broadcasts of the games on the televisions. Strange, there was a little something off about the crowd.

“Where is the cowboy anyway?” You poured some lime juice and some tequila in your metal shaker. “It’s not like him to miss a Dallas game.”

Winston sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Well... unfortunately, he and Commander Reyes argued—.”

“Tell me something I didn’t know.” You picked up the metal cup, popped the cap on it and began shaking it. “They are always arguing—especially when Reyes comes in to drag him out of here.”

“And he left.”

You poured the drinks you were mixing into the ice filled tumblers and dumped in the cherries. “What?! No way.”

“He packed up and left us.” Winston shrugged before whispering, “He sent me a private message that he was headed back to Dorado, but, of course, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Of course.”

You poured another round of shots for table 6. “So what else is new? Anyone else that I should know of leaving or whatever?”

He stared at you solemnly. “Well... do you want to know more about Cyborg?”

“Him? He comes in furious and leaves furious. What else is there to know?”

“Ahh. If you are not curious, then I will leave it be. So, give me another round and put it on my tab.”

“Of course.”

You went back to pouring drinks. Then you went to training—learning to train others and becoming more expert yourself—and went back to work. The holidays came and went. The only thing that was in any way positive was that the Cyborg stopped coming to the bar. You certainly couldn’t complain about that—it made your smile easier and your manner more welcoming, which translated to happier customers and then to better tips. That made you relax and enjoy your job even more. 

Still, the city and Overwatch were intertwined and the rumbles inside the team reflected in the town. And in your bar. Some members were gone—like Jesse—and others were talking about leaving. You heard whispers about something called “Blackwatch” that was dissolved. The dark skinned Commander Reyes still appeared to drag people out, but now the Strike Commander Morrison was also appearing. And the two times that both commanders were in the bar at the same time, you ended up spending more time cleaning up broken glasses and sweeping up the debris from the fight.

The next year, you were walking to the local library when you heard this incredible sound. Not a bang like a gun or a roar like a roller coaster or a blam like a firework, but something like all of them. The entire sky lit up with smoke and fire and sparks and you felt the road beneath you rumble. You saw rocks bounce on the sidewalk and then a terrible silence. Everyone was staring up at the billows of smoke, frozen to the spot.

From far away you heard sirens.

Fire trucks, police vehicles and ambulances came whizzing past you. You couldn’t believe the sight as everyone poured down the streets and the low clouds of dust and debris came rushing up to you. You were coated instantly, the sand and dust scraping your skin and turning you gray before whipping down the street behind you. Still, you stood there, staring at the smoky, flaming skies in shock.

The entire world stood still around you as once again things seemed to shatter at your feet.

The town was in martial law within hours. Every person on the streets were shuffled to their homes and a curfew was implemented. Your bar was closed—most everything was and in any case there was no water running in that part of town. Blue uniformed Overwatch personnel patrolled the streets in ominous stomps. You saw them in the parks, on the street corners, in commercial areas—everywhere. You even saw one of them on a school bus a week later as it rumbled by to take children to the school across town.

The news trucks rumbled in like a parasitic train. They were kept at bay—away from the rubble of the base—by the few remaining Overwatch forces. The neatly attired news anchors would pop up like daisies everywhere that they thought they could give them some kind of new answers. They filled up the hotels and crowded into the remaining restaurants and bars. It was nothing to see a table filled with neatly attired—usually suits and trench coats and skirts—people and a pile of multi-colored sponge tipped microphones in the middle. Of course, those were the polite, up-front ones. Others bought out drones and model airplanes or rented helicopters to give distance shots of the smoking hole that had been the base.

You were barely used to the reporters loitering everywhere when there was another sudden shrieking moan and all of them went running like cockroaches towards what remained of the base. You bought your groceries in almost complete silence, giving your card to the bored cashier and seeing just about no one. Then, as you went to your apartment, you saw more people running to gather around radios or televisions or whatever they could find. You set down your groceries in your kitchen and turned on your television and was immediately captured by the screaming yellow headline.

“Strike Commander J. Morrison Found Dead”

It was worse than the initial explosion. This was a bomb of unimaginable proportions that did not cause bleeding or injuries. But it was still hurt—God it hurt. Everyone knew it, felt it. The huge, gaping, bleeding wound made everyone ache and hurt and just collapse with the enormity of not just their own hurt, but the hurt of everyone around them. Everyone had some little story of how Jack did this, how Commander Morrison bought their kid balloons, how this or that happened.

Again, everyone was wounded and staggered around like the walking dead zombies on television shows. The news anchors darted around with questions like hornets. A day was not complete without someone trying to poke around and get more information. You could not go anywhere without seeing it on television. And when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, there was the memorial service with heads of state appearing via view screens.

The television and broadcasts all talked about the explosion and the deaths for weeks on end. The hotels and restaurants and bars were filled with reporters and those few spaces left were taken up by curious onlookers and gaping and gawping gossips. They took pictures of everything and everyone, as if you were all rare animals in an exhibit and they stood back as if it was all dramatically contagious. 

The only thing that made it all stop after weeks and months was another senseless killing in Japan. It was “only” thirteen this time—nine members of the Shimada-kai and four who were allegedly supporters—and the Japanese police had taken care to be sure that the family was not in residence and in an “undisclosed location”. You couldn’t admit you were secretly relieved to see them all go.

Which left a gaping hole outside town and inside, surrounded by wreaths and flowers and burnt out candles and tiny icons.

You worked and slept. You decided to buy up a building, open up a place of your own. To do that, you needed money, so you needed to work. And work and work. There was a lot of speculation on the television about the “Shimada Massacre” as it was known. There was even more gossip now since it was the fourth year that it happened on that date. No one was even trying to call it anything other than violence against the Shimada clan and their assets. There were appeals for information, rewards offered for anything that might point which gang was doing this. There were no clues that anyone might offer, although the pundits and talking-heads were quick to point out rival gangs, various special forces. Even the lesser known Talon terrorist group refused to take credit for it.

It was not really sinking in that this was happening until someone suggested that it might be a good thing that someone was taking out the Shimada.

Overwatch was disbanded the next year in the fall of 2071. The Japanese Emperor and Prime Minister had gone to the United Nations, declaring that if the mighty Overwatch was not able to take care of a mass murderer, there was no point in supporting them. Then Talon took official credit for the Overwatch HQ bombing, making them look even worse. Without the charismatic Strike Commander Morrison to smooth the ruffled feathers, everyone seemed to agree that Overwatch was yet another overreaching law enforcement waste of time and resources.

You held your breath with the rest of the world as the days rolled by. The news was full of anticipation, waiting to see if “It” would happen again. If you hadn’t been working so hard, you would have been amused at the repeated commercials asking for information to prevent the “Shimada Assassin” from attacking again. The fateful night came and went and there were “only 5” murders in Hanamura with an overwhelming seven in the surrounding towns. People were more bold now, claiming that the extra seven people were Shimada informants.

In 2072, the news barely covered it at all due to the second Omnic Crisis. By 2073, it was a small blurb that eight had died before a longer segment on a vigilante cowboy taking down a terrorist plot to hijack a hyper train. In 2074, you didn’t hear anything at all.

In the balmy summer of 2075, you were counting down the months to paying for your own place. It was all picked out and you were simply saving enough for the first six months of operations. You had the rooms drawn up in a sketches and a logo. It was going to be epic. You were going to have a full kitchen with potato skins, wings, fries, burgers and your best friend’s recipe for chili. You’d have some televisions, the sports packages, and you were really hankering to put in some game machines—especially some pachinko machines.

You watched the televisions sporadically. The bar was less busy now without the base nearby. It made ends meet, but even now things were slowing down, dying, and you were convinced that your best shot was to get out of town and start your own place. So, when you weren’t busy, you would listen to the news.

“...and as you can see here, the Omnic Rights protests have resolved peacefully. Many believe it is because of that Omnic there. You can see him now—surrounded by supporters—but... right there. That is Zenyatta of the Omnics.”

A red haired man in a blue suit that seemed to always be smiling appeared. “And what is happening?”

“Well, as you know, the Omnics appointed Zenyatta as their spokesman about two years ago. He appeared this week before the United Nations with their proposals to declare Omnics as a race and as citizens. Because Omnics are in every nation, every nation must ratify the Accords so that they all become citizens.”

The man grunted slightly and asked, “Mary, I am forced to ask... isn’t that like giving rights to a blender? Will my microwave want to vote next?”

“Of course not, Wolf. The first part of this week was devoted to actually defining what it means to be a living thing.” The camera was jostled and dodged another group of both people and Omnics with signs and posters. “We have consulted experts in robotics from Japan, the United States, Switzerland and they all agree that the first step is to formally and legally declare that the Omnics are alive. But that has required an internationally accepted definition of what it means to be alive and eligible for citizenship.”

Wolf nodded his head. “I see.”

“So, responding to stimulus, awareness of self as prescribed by a panel of psychologists. These are all signs of life. And we have seen all kinds of research and information—even Asimov’s Rules of Robotics—brought forward. Of course, there are arguments for and against, but most of all, we have seen an unprecedented cooperative effort to determine the question ‘what makes something alive?’”

“And the citizenship efforts?”

“We were there when the Omnics were declared by overwhelming votes declared the Omnics as living beings. And today, we have seen the first tentative agreements that Omnic’s citizenship be ratified.”

“Is that good?”

“It is the result of literally years of work including petitions and marches in over 40 countries, Wolf. And if the Omnics are given citizenship, then, yes, they will have the ability to vote, to drive, to serve in the military.

“Of course, that also means that they can be held directly responsible for any crimes that they commit. In the past, when they were legally property, then owners were held responsible for whatever they did. The Omnic who jaywalked was not ever fined like you or I, but instead whoever was deemed their legal owner.

“That is actually part of what drove the efforts to declare them to be ‘alive’. As you know, slavery and trafficking has long been illegal and various groups over the years have helped cut down the instances—even cutting into traditionally untouchable groups like the yakuza and the Triads and cartels. However, the Omnics were put out to work, to do chores and perform tasks, but were not given the proceeds. And isn’t that the definition of ‘slavery’?”

He nodded, “I see.”

“So, in light of this new legal accord, anything that wants to be declared ‘alive’ and potentially be eligible for citizenship must first prove it is alive according to a documented set of criteria. It must then prove that humanity is benefiting unjustly from it’s lesser status and that it can provide for itself with no other inputs, before it can appeal for international citizenship status.”

“And my microwave?”

“Well, Wolf, your microwave is smart and takes voice commands, which is responding to stimulus, but it cannot provide for itself without your input. You need to first of all plug it in—it needs your electricity—and then manually set up the voice commands. So—under these new accords—your microwave and your frozen burritos are safe.”

The man named Wolf kept jabbering on—something about his electronic assistant in his phone—as pictures and short film clips appeared. You stared at the screen for a moment as the picture froze looking at the Omnic named Zenyatta. He somehow seemed to have a smile on his face, as if he was at peace. He hovered slightly, his orange-red pantaloons flapping in the breeze along with the gold scarf around his waist. He was waving to everyone and then a picture of him appeared with a tall, silver plated humanoid with a sword over his shoulder.

The second humanoid was armored like an Olde English Knight. Yet, the smooth curves and neat joins, as well as the subtle green lights were purely Omnic. You stared at him for a while, amused at the loose limbed stance. He seemed strangely human in his stance, even giving a two finger salute to the camera that you would have sworn was playful.

It was still lingering in your mind as you were wiping down your bar top some nights later. Of course, the news had moved on to hotdog eating contests, high taxes, and various other staples. But things sort of stuck in your mind nonetheless and you had little to do but to go over it repeatedly as the thin group of regulars trickled in and out.

The door opened and let in a blast of humid air. God—you hoped that the air conditioner stayed on top of things. Last summer, it had died and you had about four days of blistering heat. Whole kegs had died as even the refrigerator units gave up. Still, for now you were cool and calm and collected, so you smiled your professional I-am-a-superior-bartender smile and watched as the new customers came in.

Zenyatta glided in effortlessly and came up to a table right in front of the bar. The Olde English Knight followed him with sharp jerks as he glanced around. Then he sat down as well. Your trainee—Kimmie—seemed to bubble and hop as she came over. “Hey! You’re the people on television? I saw you guys!”

“We are gratified,” Zenyatta purred, nodding his head on its slender neck.

“It’s so cool! Can I have, like, a picture?”

The Knight nodded slowly and stood up behind Zenyatta as she pulled out her thin phone and took a selfie with them. Then she practically danced as she took out her order pad. “So what can I get for you guys?”

Zenyatta looked over the entire bar. “I do not quite understand how this works.”

The other one plucked one of the slick menus off the table and showed it to the Omnic. “This is a menu. We can order different drinks and this is a list of the foods that they are serving tonight. We are required to order a minimum of two items each, but they can be any combination of drinks or food.”

There was a clicking sound from Zenyatta as he took the menu. “I do not think that I can... digest some of these things.” He cocked his head stiffly and then asked, “I was also unaware that buffalo had wings. Or that we even still have buffalo.”

His companion took the menu back to study it. His neck and hands were more graceful, more human, than the monk’s. “The buffalo are currently entirely in reserves, generated from DNA retrieved from bones, but they do not have wings that I know of, Master.”

Kimmie giggled entirely too much. “That’s silly. It’s an old-fashioned name for chicken wings with really spicy sauce. Seriously, they are delicious.”

The monk shrugged slightly and cocked his head. “I believe that a sample of two drinks would enhance our experience of this solar cycle. What would you recommend?”

“Samples? Like shots?” Kimmie giggled again. “If you want a flight of shots, I would suggest our Top Flight. Six shots of local spirits. If you get the Top Flight Special, you will also get two hot wings, fries and two mozzarella sticks.”

“That sounds like an acceptable experience.” Zenyatta tilted his head. “My student—what are you thinking?”

“I want... hell, I want whiskey.”

“Do you not want to try their sake? My memory banks show it is a popular drink in your native Japan.”

“Just whiskey. And... and I think that I really want to have a cola, too.”

Kimmie giggled again and wrote it all down. “I’ll be right back.”

You were pouring the flight—tiny swallows of the 6 locally brewed spirits—and then the whiskey. You heard him say that the other one was native to Japan, and you had some Hibiki whiskey on hand. Last was a cola.

Kimmie brought her tray over and whispered, “Hey—can you believe it? We have actual celebrities in our bar!”

“Yeah, well, just keep from spilling this flight, huh, Kimmie? When you’re not taking photos.”

“Yeah, yeah. That only happened once.”

“So, don’t let it happen again.”

She brought over the collection of glasses and set them down. “This is a local whiskey. Here is a bourbon, an apple whiskey, a moonshine, a peach bourbon and a cherry bourbon. And here is your whiskey and a tall cold glass of cola.”

“Thank you,” Zenyatta chirped.

“Yeah...thanks,” said his companion.

“The food will be right out,” Kimmie gushed.

“Thank you again. Now, could we have some time to enjoy our drinks?” the knight said.

You were amused to watch as the monk undid a small piece on his hands and a smooth metal straw came out. He dipped the straw in each the first glass and you were amused to see the liquid go down. Zenyatta straightened up in his chair and you saw faint lights blinking here and there on his body. Then he let out a purring or chittering sound and nodded.

“I have found this sample... interesting.”

Then he stuck out the straw and poured a little back into the glass.

“How intriguing. This is an ethyl alcohol with flavonoids, fruit extracts and caramel coloring.” Zenyatta studied the cup. “Are all alcoholic drinks like this, my student?”

“That’s the apple whiskey, Master. Not all drinks do that.” He pushed another of the tiny glass towards the Omnic. “You might find the moonshine more pure.”

“I will enjoy it.”

So, the Omnic monk studiously took samples of all of the drinks, purring and chittering as it processed the samples and apparently breaking down the alcohol into whatever parts it was made of. When the food came to the table, the student Omnic took bits of the wings, cheese sticks and fries, cut them into tiny pieces and then presenting the samples. The Master picked up tiny morsels and slid it into another, more flexible tube so that he could analyze it.

“This bite seems to be covered in a highly acidic, organic substance in a lipid based suspension.” Zenyatta cocked his head. “It would appear that this acidic substance could cause injury in a high enough concentration.”

“It is what they call a ‘buffalo wing’, Master. The spicy sauce is made from certain breeds of peppers that are crushed and cooked down in vinegar and salt and the mixed with butter.”

Zenyatta nodded with a metallic clicking. “And the sauce does not cause injuries to organic life?”

“Well, Master, a lot of people eat them precisely because of the stinging sensations. There are many samples that are even more intense and have even higher concentrations of the acids.”

“What a strange custom! To consume something that causes unpleasant stinging pain upon eating seems to be illogical. Yet, you say that there are even more acidic samples and people consume them?”

“There are even contests to see who has the hottest wings. And who can consume them.”

“How strange.” He picked up the morsel of mozzarella stick and slid it into the tube. “This is a strange combination of compressed whey with a rough exterior and.... I cannot find words.”

“There is a cheese center, covered with crumbs and fried in hot grease so that the interior becomes melted and the outside is crispy. Here—it is usually eaten with this tomato based sauce.”

“Why?”

“It tastes good.”

“Crushed fruit sauce with garlic and oregano and basic extracts enhances the heated, compressed and super heated whey cylinder?”

“Yes, Master.”

“The combination would activate several major sections of taste receptors on the human tongue. That could be a pleasing sensation.”

“It is a delicious combination.” Tightened his hands into fists and his voice dropped to a guttural and bitter growl. “As I recall.”

They paused and looked at each other silently. Finally, Zenyatta nodded stiffly and said, “The past is gone, my student.”

“I still miss it. Everything.”

“There is much that you will miss, but you will have new memories in the future. You will find that you have a full compliment of new experiences, new abilities, to learn about and to find pleasure in.”

There was a long pause as they seemed to think about something. The green and silver form nodded and let out a hissing sigh. “I will... try, Master.”

You were distracted by another order and couldn’t listen in any more. You whipped the bottles up and poured the alcohol before adding the sour and simple syrup. Of course, shaking the two tins made such a noise right at your ears, so it was almost two minutes before you could pay attention to anything else. Then you strained and poured the drinks before adding orange twists and setting them on the waitress’s tray.

Finally you were able to turn around again. To your surprise, the silver and green-lit form was standing right at the bar. You flushed and gaped for a moment, looking at him. “So, how are you doing? Do you like the drinks?”

The Omnic cocked his head and for yet another moment, he seemed to be fully human as he reached up and seemed to be about to scratch the back of his head. The lights flickered for a moment. “Umm... do you have a moment? To... to talk?”

You looked around. Everyone seemed happy and the bar was nearly empty. No one needed drinks right at the moment, so it was as good a time to talk. You wiped down the bar top with a cloth and then gave him a short nod. “I suppose that now is a good time.”

He watched you for a moment. “Uhh... here?”

Your ears picked up something odd. Most Omnics did not use common language idioms or phrases. Rarely did they use a contraction. Almost certainly, they did not use common phrases like ‘um’ or ‘uh’ to fill the silence or join phrases. “I guess so—sure. Let’s talk.”

He nodded. “So... I wanted to... to apologize.”

Your eyes went wide. There were no accidents, no spills or anything you could see wrong. “Umm... okay? But, what is wrong? I can clean things up—.”

“No... nothing like that.” He looked around and then tilted his head. “Could we... please stay a little late so that we can talk in private?”

You stared at Kimmie as she walked to a table to clean up some cups. “I guess. I mean, what do you want?”

“Just to talk. My Master and I simply want to talk. But not in public where others might hear.”

You were about to demure, but there was something about his metallic tone that made you pause. “I’m not going to be alone, but I’ll talk to you. Just the bouncer will be here when I close.”

“You’re still closing? I thought senior, ultra-trainers didn’t have to close.”

“Still closing.” Now why did the metal man sound like he knew you? Perhaps it was just you being jittery. But you were suddenly sure you wanted to know more. “I’ll make sure you’re the last out.”

“Thank you, miss.”

You worked through the hours, talking to everyone and in general being friendly and productive. Then, at the end of the night, you paused and walked to the table. Grabbing a chair, you sat down between the Omnics and smirked. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

The Omnic man nodded, looking up from his contemplation of the drinks still on the table. “Still sarcastic, I see.”

You frowned at them both. “Why are you both acting like I should know you? I’m pretty sure that I’ve never met either of you.”

They looked at each other and you saw a faint nod from Zenyatta. Finally, there was a hiss and the student began pulling the tiny clasps and unfastening tubes and plugs you could not even see. Then, there was another hiss and he began pulling the contoured faceplate away. You frowned at the unexpected move. In short order, there was a puzzle of shiny metal pieces on the table and you couldn’t help but stare at them.

You eyes drug along the pieces—even a strange, headband looking piece that looked straight out of the punk revival fashions of the 2050s. Why was he doing this? And then his metallic fingers rested on the table and you were forced to look him in the face.

Somehow—it was impossible to see how—it was Genji!

You felt a scream in your throat as you stared at him. It was not possible. There was no way it could be Genji. Hanzo had killed him years ago. You had read the obituary—you knew you had. He was surely not here. This was some kind of mistake or trick. Maybe Omnics were experimenting with fleshy looking faces.

“I’m glad to see you,” he whispered and without the mask you could hear Genji’s voice quite clearly. The lower jaw was metallic and had seemed covered in some kind of fibrous cloth. But his cheeks turned red as he looked at you. “I am... glad that you agreed to talk to us. To me.” You gaped at him wordlessly. “I mean, after I... kind of lost it the last time I talked to you.”

“Wh-wh-what?” You shook your head, hoping that the illusion of Genji would fade. “I... really don’t understand.”

Genji looked down and then looked at Zenyatta silently. There was an awkward moment as you stared at them both in a panic. Genji’s metallic pieces clicked anxiously and finally Zenyatta spoke in a soothing hum. “It is fine, my student. We are well and there is no rush.” There were a few barely audible hums. “Unless you are in a hurry?”

“Uhh... ummm....”

“I’m sorry,” Genji blurted out. He looked at the both of you. “I am really... sorry... for losing my temper.” He flicked his fingers through his hair and winced as a few hairs got tangled in his joints. He cursed under his breath and tugged harder until he was loose. Then he cursed and began picking dark hairs from his knuckles. “I was there. At your bar, I mean. And... and I really lost my... my temper.”

Your blank look must have communicated your confusion. Thankfully, Zenyatta spoke up in his soothing, placid hum. “It is part of my student’s continual learning and growth to address the regrets of his earlier life.” He folded his hands in a diamond. “The sorrows and anger of the past can weigh down the future. As a part of moving forward—and following most modern psychological growth theories—I have advised him to... consider offering what you could call an ‘apology’ and to attempt to find resolution.”

Your eyes went to Genji—if that is who it was. “B-b-but you’re... dead?”

“I was saved... by Overwatch,” he nodded. “It is a long—and hard—journey, but in order to find peace, I wanted to... apologize.”

“Wh—?”

“I went to your bar. Where I knew you were.” He jerked nervously. “You were there and I-I-I hoped to... to—. Well, I guess I wanted to scare you.”

“What do mean?”

Genji scratched his head again. “I guess you didn’t recognize me.” He pulled out a small device and clicked it on. A 3D picture of the angry, red cyborg that came to your bar during the Japanese massacres appeared. “I was... very angry. And I was determined to make... make you scared.”

“But why?!”

He looked down and his joints clicked in a jarring rattle. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” You shook your head and you felt suddenly desperate to figure out what was going on. “If you ever made sense, Genji Shimada, it would be nice to have it be now.”

“Don’t you know that it... is Hanzo?”


	14. Chapter 14

You woke up, staring at the ceiling of the bar. Zenyatta and Genji were on each side of you, staring down at you. The monk’s head tilted from side to side. “You are quite all right, miss. As you can see, you are safe and your bar is completely whole.”

Genji helped you to your feet. “Are you all right? You fell so quickly that I almost didn’t catch you.”

You gave him a confused look and collapsed down on a chair. “Hanzo? But... why? How?”

Genji gave you a smirk—a mere ghost of the yakuza’s younger flirtatious grin—and nodded. He patted your hand and sauntered to the back of the bar to pull out a glass, fill it with ice and water. He brought it back to you with an almost unholy grace. You bit your lip to keep from gaping at him. He had been interesting to watch before with the kind of saunter that tons of money and power seemed to bring to people. Now, he was hypnotic in an interesting way as he glided on a seamless integration of man and machine.

You sipped the water, trying to collect your thoughts. Finally you asked, “How could Hanzo...? Why would he...?”

Genji came to sit across the table from you. The slender Omnic came over to sit next to him. “So, let me introduce you. This is my master, Zenyatta. And, I suppose that I should re-introduce myself. I’m the one you used to know as Shimada Genji—the Shimada Sparrow, if you happen to remember my street name.”

“I... remember you.” You swallowed heavily as your cheeks heated up. “I mean, I couldn’t forget you.”

He nodded with an unmistakably humored twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose that I deserve that. Although you will have to forgive me if I can’t tell if it is a good thing or bad thing that you do finally remember me.”

“I do.”

He nodded and smiled again. “It’s fine. You know what? It’s fine. I know that we weren’t close buddies. We met a few times and it was a while ago.” He puffed out a breath. “And, man, I can admit that I was something of a spoiled brat and probably bad news.

“Anyway, I wanted to kind of meet you again. To catch up with you on such a momentous date.”

“What date is it?”

Genji looked at your confused face and said, “It’s... ten years.” He sighed as Zenyatta patted his shoulder. “I guess it is not as... memorable a date for you. Do you know what happened?”

“No. I don’t remember a lot. That is, I do, kinda... just tell me. I’m all confused.”

“Ten years ago, Hanzo was sent out to kill me.” His metallic fingers balled up and released in an uncharacteristic way—jerking and shaking. “I don’t know what he ever told you. I don’t... really understand—don’t know much about your relationship. He told me to keep away from you. He threatened to kill me if I tried to make a move on you. But, that wasn’t going to happen. Ever. And that’s... god, I hope that’s not why it happened.”

You shook as you tried to get your mind moving. There seemed to be nothing to but hear him out. Even if it brought a whole lot of memories that you thought you had gotten over. You needed to hear this out and get a whole picture. “Go on.”

His voice shook and then steadied, as if he was repeating something he had said a hundred times. “According to the gathered intelligence, Hanzo was sent out by the elders to kill me. He ... he is—was good at that and he did the job well. That part... is not important. Well, it was important, but not as important as what happened next.”

“What happened next?”

“Every year, he... he goes back to... Hanamura.”

“Why?”

Genji didn’t hear you. Or he didn’t want to hear you. “He goes back and goes to the temple and lights incense at the stand. It’s where my favorite swords are on display. So, I think he goes to honor me.”

“You... think?”

“Mmm... I think so. I haven’t spoken directly to him in ten years. There was a point that I thought it might be related to you. That it was some kind of thing.... Maybe you dumped him then. Or you had lost something. For a while I thought it was that he had lost his child that day. But you disappeared and there’s been no particular evidence that you were ever pregnant—.”

“I wasn’t!”

“So, I think it’s his... backwards and macho way of missing me.” He propped his chin lazily on his hand and put his elbow on the table. “It’s kind of touching, I guess—that he is going to all this trouble to go and light incense on the anniversary of my greatly exaggerated death.” He glanced at your confused and frightened face, and gave you a smile. “He goes every year and performs his... rituals—.”

You stared at him with a frown. “What else is there? The deaths?”

Genji nodded, “Yeah. I guess—.”

The Omnic monk nodded and chirped, “The truth should be completely bare, in order to promote your healing and peace.”

He nodded again and muttered, “The deaths. It is a.... I suppose I should say, ‘it is a tragedy’. But I don’t quite have that level of zen, yet.

“It is a loss of life, still. Shimada-kai and their guards and supporters. They all stood between Hanzo and his intended task. He plows through them every year and somehow they have more each year. At first it was a surprise and it was a tragedy that so many lost their lives. The next year—I don’t know if you remember—it was shocking. The third year and the pattern emerged.

“The Shimada leadership now know he is coming and when. The news articles and any possible sympathy have dried up. They leave behind some people—a few guards and a few grunts—so that they can keep guiding him away from the living areas and the truly sensitive areas. That and a few unfortunate souls who are to be punished and will have complete forgiveness if they manage to kill him.

“Our intelligence suggests that they know it is Hanzo. That they know he is the rightful leader and are hoping that he will die. They know that they do not have public sympathy, nor any media spotlight. They know that even if he wipes them out entirely—which Japanese law enforcement would applaud—no one will help. At this point, they are on their own and have no way to get help.

“And who would help them? Not the other yakuza clans—they are fighting to stay alive like any other criminals. Not the police—they want the Shimada gone, along with every other clan. Not any other organization. Perhaps they could align with Talon, but that would force them to give up their autonomy to operate as they please in Japan.

“So they are stuck, with only the men that they have. Hanzo is the rightful leader and despite his recent attacks, there are those who would follow him because he is the son of Sojiro. Others have decided that he is a traitor and want him dead. Along with all those who think he is in any way his father’s son.”

You shuddered as you thought about that. “So... apologies aside, why are you even here? There’s no base here. Not anymore. There’s not really any industry. I’m just someone in a bar.”

He grinned and shrugged. “I guess... no reason. I keep hoping that he’ll just show up here one day.” He tapped the table idly. “Like the old days, when he’d just show up and whisk you away.”

You blushed wildly. “That’s... not really what happened.”

“Oh, I’m sure that it was complicated—at best.” He sighed and seemed lost in the memories. “He’s always been complicated. Always had to be in charge. I don’t doubt that he probably was scary and rough and.... It’s just complicated.”

“You have no idea.”

“But you are also the only woman that hasn’t....”

“Hasn’t what?”

“Well, he was a bit of a playboy when he was younger. But the first girl he went steady with was a cheerleader and when he dumped her, her older brother came to school and they got into a fight.”

“What?!”

“He got a bloody nose and a back eye and three days at home for detention.”

“What?!”

“Yeah—our father laughed and told him to finish what the other kid started. And before you yelp again, that was our father. He wanted Hanzo to be strong and tough and to have the reputation even in school as someone not to mess with. The clan’s reputation could only take him so far, you see?

“So girl number two was an exchange student. Father disapproved of her and her program dismissed her when she tried to break up with him and she went back to the United States. Girl three was a yakuza princess and when they fought, both clans fought. Finally, after one of her father’s men shot and nicked Hanzo and she threatened to kill him.”

“Then what happened?”

“She threatened to kill him, but went off in a snit and took up with one of her father’s men. The last girl pulled a knife on him after he refused to marry her.” He looked at your shocked face. “She said she was pregnant. He proved that she was seeing someone else on the side, but wanted a huge payout, and that the child was the other man’s.

“So, you’re it. You’re the very last girl he was in any way, at all serious about. And you lasted months instead of weeks. You never told him you were pregnant. Never demanded anything from him. You aren’t connected to anyone else who directly opposes him—no other clans or law enforcement. You never wanted a good time and nothing else.

“Do you know he had you investigated? Twice. The second time I did it—just to be sure you were really just a girl and not some kind of agent—and you came up clean. He was... really happy to hear that and went out to buy some pearls for you that evening.”

“Pearls? Are you fucking with me?”

“Pearls. I know because he drug me out with him to do it. I asked him—why pearls?—and he said because you were a pearl.”

“He told me that he was engaged. That he was giving me jewelry he should have given her!”

“What?! Oh—her. She was another yakuza princess. Her father and our father wanted to have a deal and split some businesses and do a merger. She hated Hanzo on sight because he was ‘just like her father’ and he didn’t like her either. The engagement was literally a business arrangement between our families.”

“He married her!”

“He was told that if he married you—he would be disowned.”

“What?!”

“So he was backed into a corner. You didn’t ask for anything, but he wanted to give everything to you anyway. If he was disowned, he’d have nothing but the clothes on his back and safe passage to the edge of the estate. And as proud—.”

“He’d rather die than depend on me.”

“Exactly. He’d literally rather die. Our father knew that. And the business merger was too big, too important.” His eyes glittered as he looked at you. “I suppose it might not change anything if I told you that she asked for a separate bedroom during the trip and then separate quarters back home when they got back? Or that she came to me and... ahh... approached me?”

You tried to fit this all into what you knew of the man. Of course, this was all ten years ago or more. Who knew what he was like now?

“He’s.... I’ve extended an invitation to him. To have him join me—.”

You nodded slowly. “Overwatch really is reforming, isn’t it?”

“What?!” He looked around hurriedly and you belatedly noticed that even your bouncer was gone. “You know?”

“It’s... gossip here and there.” You gave him an unsteady smile and a wink. “Lots of people here, just talking. And I hear most of the juicy stuff.” You looked longingly around. “And lots of people really want Overwatch back. They want the base to reopen so that there’s jobs again.”

Genji nodded and looked at his master, who nodded in return. Finally he looked at you. “Do you—? Did you have any kind of feelings for him?” Your blush apparently told him plenty. “If you did... I’d tell you that I have hope that he’s following me. That he’s going to find you.”

You muttered sourly, “Yeah... he’s going to be highly disappointed.”

“Really?”

“I... When he broke things off with me, I ended up in the hospital. And then my place got broken into and all the jewelry is gone.” You scowled. “I thought that he had taken it since the only fingerprints were mine and his.”

He nodded slowly. “Well... I guess he might have. He knew that they—the elders—wanted him in exile. He might have taken the jewelry to disappear on. We’ve had no trace of records of him getting a job.” You nodded sadly. “But... the one piece of jewelry we’ve never found again... was the pearls.”

He looked at his master and the Omnic folded his metallic fingers. “We should be going, Master. It’s a long trip back.”

“My student, have you concluded your business here?” There was a flicker of lights or something in his facial holes. “Are you now at peace?”

“Yeah—I am.” He smiled and it was like he was that Genji you knew again. “I am really sorry. I have apologized for my bad behavior and I will not repeat the behavior. It was my mistake.” He nodded towards you. “I have also found someone who remembers me as I was. As Hanzo was. Someone who knows that Hanzo did have a good side and someone who thinks that I had a good side.”

Zenyatta nodded in an amicable way. “It is good that you have recognized your mistake, that you have apologized for it, and that you can move on. It is good that you have recognized that people remember you in a positive way. These are good things, my student.”

Genji smiled at you. “Hey.... If you... are—.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’d really like for you... to stay in touch.” He flushed and began scrambling to pick the bits and pieces of his face mask. “I mean, I’m not really as crazy as I sound. And it really is good to—you know—talk to someone who knows about... about the past. About who I really was.”

“I guess,” you muttered. “It’s been a long time.”

“And you do not seem to hold it against me.” He snorted and you laughed briefly. “But... I also wanted you to know.... Hanzo, is.... That is, he might be following me.”

You laughed. “He probably won’t be by, but I’ll pass on your information if he asks.”

Genji nodded slowly. “If you are sure.... But I wanted you to be prepared. I didn’t want him to just show up out of nowhere and surprise you. He’s good at that. He’s probably even going to show up out of the blue and just waltz in.” He winked at you as he assembled the mask and then slid it on. There was a musical series of clicks and hisses as it connected to his armor and the lights powered on. “It’s probably not going to be a week before you see him again.”

“Sure. And pigs will fly tomorrow.” You shrugged as you all stood. “I’ll keep an eye out for that.”

The voice from the armor was metallic and seemed to reverberate like a child’s voice in a tin can. “I am in town for a while. At the Sun Hotel. Room 105. Just ask for the room number—they’ll patch you through. If Hanzo doesn’t sweep you off your feet and make you disappear that is.”

You laughed again. Sure... Hanzo would show up again. And pigs would fly.


	15. Chapter 15

A week went by. Another week went by.

You should have bet that man a week’s pay that nothing would happen. Every little bit would help in your ploy to open your own place. You could have told him that nothing would happen.

Then, as you were wiping down the bar top and sincerely regretting hiring the new bartender—he was not as great a bartender as he thought he was—a new person came in. He was in a loose and floppy hooded coat and a pair of denim pants with those new, fashionable zipper pockets that went vertically along the thigh instead of at the hip, and thick boots. He didn’t greet anyone, but went to sit by himself in a corner booth. You felt an instinctive, electric charge go down your spine at first glance even if you couldn’t see his face in the hood.

Still, he waved away the waitress. The second waitress. You were about to call for security, but he made no trouble beyond asking for a glass of water. And chips. So, you went back to doing what you liked best—helping customers who were out for a good time. Your tips kept flowing in and the sheer energy of having people enjoy your drinks and enjoy themselves.

Finally, the crush of people began to leave. You were worn out as you passed out glasses of water and began to call cabs for those who couldn’t drive. The usual stuff happened—messes and spilled drinks and the new guy broke a glass over the ice bin, which ground everything to a halt until it was drained entirely and refilled. Your nerves were stretched thin and you counted the days until you had your down payment and savings to get your own place going.

It was—at last count—approximately thirty nine days.

Thank goodness—there was an Omnic that came in who looked lost. You shouted over the head of the barback at it and it clacked up to you. You were as confused and it was, until it handed you a piece of paper. You were sure it was some kind of catering request or form—maybe even a notice of violation of the noise ordinance since it was karaoke night—but you saw it was a resume of sorts. Immediately, you grabbed the manager and shoved it in front of her. Thankfully, you were able to grab the Omnic before it got pushed aside. Thank goodness you knew that tomorrow night would be better with a new bartender.

He was still there.

You filled his water as you raced to collect some of the last glasses. Surely he was getting tired of just sitting there. Surely he’d leave. And when you turned around again, he was gone. Thank goodness, it was time to close the doors and lock up and get cleaned up for tomorrow.

Jerk.

Fucking jerk.

He left you a couple of bills to cover the snacks—two packs of chip and two packs of peanuts—and a pittance for tip. And, because he was such a jerk, he took the red plastic cup and turned it upside down on the table. You hadn’t seen that stunt since a group of frat brothers came through and turned their glasses of water upside down so that the water spilled out when the cup was moved. 

Massive, gigantic jerk.

You took a deep breath and grabbed a few bar towels. Hesitantly you moved the cup, expecting to see the water pouring over the table. You were even still cursing him in your head as you moved the cup.

There was a brilliant pearl necklace.

You dropped to your knees with a thud as you stared at the strand uncoiled and spread on the tabletop. Pearls. Pearls. Pearls. A white pearl necklace. You hesitantly stroked the pearl closest to you and felt the cool ripple of the surface and the slight imperfections. There was a tiny knot in the string between each one. There was even a tiny piece of fluff—lint from a hoodie pocket or a jeans pocket—on the string that looked like it had sent the last ten years being touched constantly.

Pearls.

A white pearl necklace.

Your body tightened in strange and involuntary ways. A wash of heat went through your veins. You snatched the pearls up and stuffed them in a pocket. This was not a coincidence. Not so soon. Not after all this time. With most of the lights out and all the money from the registers counted and the locks thrown, you stared at them and wracked your brain to remember where Genji had said he’d be.

Fuck.

You couldn’t remember and ended up spending a lot of time staring at the necklace in your hand.

You went to your apartment and stared at the necklace. Even when you finally got to sleep, it seemed that you were still staring at them in your hand. When you drug yourself up out of bed, you felt dazed and sluggish. You drug on your uniform and hustled out the door.

Nothing happened. No unusual strangers. Okay—the really odd guy who continually seemed to be talking to himself was still there, but he was a regular by now and not a problem generally. No one seemed to be out of place or about to cause problems.

Still, the sleepless night told on you. You drug yourself from drink to drink, customer to customer. You forced yourself with sheer obstinate force of will to do your job well. And if the tip jar was a little light, it would be made up later with more work—after you had slept.

Your break came too slowly. Finally, you were able to step out from behind the bar and grab a water and a quick meal of mozzarella sticks with tomato sauce, and go to the small eating area in the back. You sat down gratefully and counted your blessings that so far you had only sore feet and back.

Hell, the tomato sauce was hot on the fingers. You reached into your pockets on your half apron and your fingers hit the cool round pearls. It froze you in your spot, the hot cheese stick halfway to your mouth. Finally, you set the treat down and held the pearls in your hand. You even pulled them out and held them in your palms to look at them. Even in this dim and uncertain light, the look of their luminescence cheapened everything around them.

You shuddered in the sudden cold and felt suddenly a bit afraid.

You stuffed it into your pocket. You gobbled up your meager meal and guzzled your water. As soon as you got back inside, you’d get some coffee. Some of the cook’s thick, black coffee that he practically burned every day. That gunk could keep a normal person up for days.

As soon as you got back inside, you were inundated with new orders. You could barely see the back of the bar from your post as you mixed drinks. Whatever party or celebration or whatever had just let out, it was flooding your bar with tons more customers than you had ever thought possible. No one had a second to breathe, to stop and catch their breath, before going back to work.

You finally got a chance to speak to a group of guys and ask, “What’s the big celebration, fellas?”

“The base is coming back,” one of them shouted over the din. “They are reopening.”

Ahh... so that is what the hubbub was about. You nodded and kept going. The cook was annoyed that the front of house staff emptied even his enormous coffee pot, but everyone was getting slammed. No one had a chance to stand still.

The good thing about being busy was that the hours flew past. Before you knew it, it was time to close. You laughed at the groups leaving, waving at them as they left. The last stragglers paid their bills and you felt like your fingertips had blisters before you could get the last one in. Thankfully, you were closing the bar, locking the door and turning off the signs.

To your surprise, Genji and Zenyatta were sitting at one of the tables. You nodded at them and staggered to a seat between them. “Hey guys.”

Zenyatta nodded in your direction. “It is good to see you.”

Genji nodded and pulled off the faceplate to put it down on the table. “Hey. So how are things?”

“Just groovy.”

He smiled and whispered, “You look tired.” He grinned at his master. “And... I was wondering if you had seen my brother.”

You turned red and sputtered, “Hey... how did you guys even get in here? I thought I got everyone out.”

Genji grinned at you. He rolled his hands in a graceful way that made you think of a magician. “The hand—or in this case, the Omnic—is quicker than the eye.”

You sputtered furiously again. Finally you dug in your pockets again and pulled out the string of pearls. Setting them on the table, you looked up sheepishly at them. “He showed up. But we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

Genji reached out gingerly and touched your hand. “It’s okay. If there’s one thing Hanzo was never good at, it was—is—talking. He will... be back.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “If there’s any hope... for him to come back, he’ll come to you. He’ll come to you.”

“I guess.”

“He will come to you. He will.... God, I hope he will come to you. I hope that you will... be able to reach him. Be able to get him to... to....”

Zenyatta let out a chirp and a soothing whir. “My student, breathe. You are doing well on your journey. If this is too much, then it is what it is.”

“But... I want Hanzo back, Master. I want my brother to... to be a part of my life. I want him to join me. Us. I am... so much more than I was. So much better now that I am no longer part of the clan.” He puffed out an emotion thick breath. “He is all the family I have left.”

“Of course, you are, my student.”

“It’s not wrong for me to want him at my side, is it, Master?”

“No, my student.”

“And we need him. We need his help to help with the yakuza problem in Japan. So, it’s not like it is just me, right?”

“No, my student.”

He looked at you with anxious eyes. “And... you’ll help us, right? You’ll help us find him.”

“Don’t you know where he is?!”

“Uhh.... not really. In fact, we lost track of him about three months ago.”

“What?!”

“He’s... well trained. He has received the same training I did and he is very good at it. So, we know he left Japan after I met him at the temple. We know that he left China and he entered the country about three months ago. But, he’s hard to track. He’s been on foot or hitchhiking and only occasionally taking transit which we can track.

“But I have to believe that he can... can be persuaded to come over and join us. That he can be forgiven and earn the same pardons I have. I don’t... think I’m strong enough to not believe that.”

You nodded slowly. “I know what you mean.”

“We’ll go ahead and leave you alone now. We don’t want to attract any trouble.” Genji smiled at you and poked the pearls. “Please... tell him—if you see him—that... I miss him and... I’m sorry.” Tears filled his eyes and he couldn’t meet your eyes. “I... am so sorry. I want him to come home.”


	16. Chapter 16

They left quietly out the back. You were relieved to finally deposit the night’s take and to get home. When you got your apron and uniform off, it was a relief to go to your meager bedroom. You were going to sleep forever and then get up and eat well and really feel good tomorrow.

Hanzo was there in his hoodie and denim pants, staring at you as he sat on your bed.

You weren’t surprised—not really. You weren’t sure why, but you were almost half expecting him. And when Genji showed up again, you felt it in your bones that the older brother wasn’t far behind. So, when you saw him, you weren’t shocked or scared, only a little relieved that it was finally behind you.

He spoke first. “I followed you here.”

You nodded and pulled the pearls out. They gleamed in your hand and you held them at arm’s length to him.

His face was haggard and weary, lines of grim certainty on his face. There were thick wings of silver hair at his temples and a few threads of white here and there in his beard and mustache. Far from arrogant, he seemed to be simply older, more mature and wiser and infinitely more thoughtful. It was like looking into a painting of a battle worn general.

Still, he didn’t reach out to you in return. His eyes bored into you without the glimmers of expectation or hope you expected. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets like a child who didn’t quite trust himself not to touch everything in a store. There was a large canvas bag with a thick twine tying the top closed. You saw his hands curl into fists through the worn thin pockets.

He whispered, “I am sorry.”

That made you shudder. You dropped to the small chair you had kept at your dresser. The pearls spilled through your fingers to tap to the floor in a rattle. Your voice wouldn’t come out though. Nothing could escape your dry throat.

Maybe you were more shocked than you believed.

“I am sorry.” He shook his head slightly and it made you notice his longer hair tied with a frayed piece of ribbon. “I was going to.... I was never going to be....” He sighed and finally glanced away with red cheeks. “I wanted to see you again. See you and have you know that it was... me.”

“I know.”

“I am no longer a yakuza. I am no longer... anything you knew. There is no money, no power. There are no men to protect you, to do my bidding. There is nothing left.” His voice was a dull monotone as he continued the confession from the bottom of his soul. “I took the jewelry I gave you. I did not have any wealth when I left—my uncles and cousins closed the accounts even before I killed Genji. I thought that I would be able to repay you. Get them back. Eventually”

“I know.”

“I cannot. They have already been sold and sold again and are beyond my ability to retrieve them.”

“I know.”

“All that was left—. I could not sell those pearls.” He sighed and looked dispassionately at the treasure on the floor. “It was.... I lied. I told you that I had bought the jewelry for her, but I was thinking of you every time I bought a piece of jewelry. Then I would get into an argument with my wife so that I could take it from her.”

You nodded because words were beyond you. You were almost sorry for her—whoever she was. This mysterious Mrs. Hanzo Shimada who he didn’t love.

“My wife is gone.”

“W-w-what happened?”

“She... said that she was ashamed of me. She said that she was never going to be my wife, never let me be with her. That she was never going to be tied to... a man like me. Like her father.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was ashamed to see me, after I killed Genji. She said that she lost face—the she was ashamed to be my wife. I told her that I would give her a divorce—but she said she would only lose face as the wife of a murderer. She said that she could not bear the shame of being yakuza.” He sighed and seemed to be holding a thousand years of culture and tradition on his shoulders. “She... committed seppuku—ritual suicide.” At your surprised gasp, he gave a hollow grimace. “That was the official verdict. I believe that her father blamed her, considered her a traitor because she was defying him by leaving me—and I would not be surprised to find that he had a hand in her death.”

There was a long pause as he watched you process those words. Finally he added. “I am free—but I am not free. I cannot escape what I was. What I chose to be. I cannot escape the past. And now, I cannot even offer to get you a drink when you look like you could use it.”

“I get plenty of alcohol—I don’t need more.” You saw him nod solemnly. “I do work at a bar.” You cocked your head. “And that doesn’t answer why you are here? In my room—again?”

“I am following Genji.” He finally cracked a smile. “I don’t know if he has found you yet, but if not by now, it will be soon.” He gave you a shrug. “He has joined Overwatch. I think that... maybe I could have something to offer them.”

“I... think so.”

“I am going to find them. There is no one else who could use my... peculiar expertise who could give me refuge.” He bunched his fists in his pockets again. “It would.... Maybe I could finally get a paycheck.”

“That’s... a good plan. But why are you here? I’m still just a bartender.”

“I heard that the base here was opening up again. That there was a recall of the agents and a reforming of the teams.” He gave you a weary grin. “Genji always loved being in the center of the action—so even if I do not find him here, I will find him through them.”

“Then what?” You picked up the pearls and drug the chair a bit closer. “What are you doing?”

He nodded and scooted a bit closer to you. His voice dropped to a low whisper which added a heavy sadness. “I am trying to be different. I.... My family is a plague in Japan, but they have been in power for generations. Nothing will break their hold—especially with the union I helped create.”

“What about the police? Interpol or something?”

He let out a harsh sound. “After so many generations, we have relatives everywhere. We know the people, know their dirty secrets. We know exactly how to make sure that no one interferes.”

“And you?”

“I want to expose them. To take them down.”

You gasped and put a hand up to your mouth. “What are you saying?”

It was a long moment of silence before he said, “I want them to stop. I want all of the Shimada yakuza to pay for their crimes.”

“But... you were—?”

“It starts with me. My father said ‘as the head, so goes the body’. After I left you, I.... I went walking. I did not stop until I was miles out of town—miles away from Hanamura. And... then, it started to rain.” You couldn’t resist a little giggle. “I went to an alley. I was going to call one of the men to pick me up—but I found a group of people there.”

“Who?”

“Their names? Yoshi, Hana, Aoi, Sora. They were all... so poor. They were in the alley and were standing around a small camp stove. They were as surprised as I was when we saw each other. They were so very poor. I did not know that people could be that poor. Not in this modern age.”

“What happened?”

“They did not know me. But they invited me into the alley, to a place around their camp stove. Yoshi had gathered boxes and layered them over the tops of two dumpsters. Hana had a pot and Sora had gotten some scraps. Aoi was the youngest—barely fourteen—but she had gotten enough money to buy a beer and a vending machine tub of ramen.

“It was nothing. Just scraps and trash and a beat up pot with the ramen and broth, some of the beer and some scraps of food.” His eyes crinkled in humor. “It was terrible—tasted terrible. But it was somewhat dry and as long as you were careful, you could be a bit warm.

“They did not know me. Papers were a luxury—newscasts and such were almost foreign to them. Aoi was nine when she first was homeless—she had not really been in school and could barely remember having a meal at a table. Yoshi was a middle manager somewhere and his company closed, so he lost everything. Sora was a drug addict when I met him, and was barely coherent some times.

“Despite all that—they welcomed me into their tiny circle. My clothes were worth more than everything that they had all put together—even with the bloodstains. They had nothing, but they smiled and... and touched each other. They asked each other how they were doing. I had never seen anything like it—no backstabbing, no protocols and elaborate posturing. It was from another universe.”

You let out a soothing sound and leaned forward. He was cracking up, shaken to his core even by the memories.

“They said I could have some of the soup. That I could join them and they’d find enough cardboard to make me a shelter. All for nothing. I had some money in my wallet and offered it to them, but they said that friends always helped each other.” His face turned red as he looked at you. “I put some in Aoi’s cup—she begged on the street corner—and then in each of their packs. I was going to give them more, but my card was canceled and the money in the account had been moved when I went to the bank the next morning.” He grinned wryly. “I never envisaged that I would pay over thirty five thousand yen for such awful soup from a rusty pot, but I am.... I am glad I did it.”

You did the math—a hasty calculation—and realized that he was talking about several hundred dollars. Poor man—he had faced the world that he had never seen before. He was broken and shattered and seemed to be holding together on sheer willpower alone. He was probably running on nerves alone. He definitely was not eating well or sleeping if his appearance was any indication. He had dark circles under his eyes and had aged.

“You were... not at your apartment. I was going to... to ask you for some money. Enough to get back to Hanamura. And the lockbox was there. I was going to sell the jewelry and get back home and determine what happened to my accounts. Then I was going to buy back the jewelry before you returned and you would never miss them.

“But... I could not. It was supposed to be fast—just a normal problem that the card was refused because of some idiotic computer glitch. Then I could give a little bit to Sora and Hana and Aoi and Yoshi. I thought that perhaps I could even get Yoshi a low level job at one of the pachinko parlors or somewhere that might be legal enough for him.

“But the police were there and even when I got into the estate—nothing was right. My computer was missing. The accounts for Genji and I were closed and the money moved to one of my cousin’s account. I was going to confront the elders at the estate, but Moon and Tino found me in my office and told me everything. How the elders sent the ninja. How they had begun moving the money before Genji’s body was even cold. They gave me—. They offered me what they had in their wallets but I could not take it. So, they got me back off the estate.”

You nodded slowly, trying to piece together a family that would do that to one another. Who would leave anyone behind. “So... now what?”

“I went back to Hanamura to honor Genji. He was the best of us—there was no reason for them to... to hate him that much.”

“The news reported it—at least the first time.”

He snorted and shook his head. “They are like maggots. Vultures.” His face turned fierce and he snarled as his eyes were a hundred miles away. “It was... almost funny to see them camping around Hanamura the first time. It made my uncles so angry because they hate being in the spotlight.

“I thought I could take the clan down that way—create enough of a media spotlight on them that they could not survive. The yakuza thrive on secrecy and shadows—a gaggle of reporters prying into everything should make them shrivel up. So I resolved to fight my way in every year. If I killed enough of them, kept killing them, then maybe they would not be able to continue.

“I sold the jewelry bit by bit. I thought that if I kept some of it aside, you would forgive me if I could return what was left. But then... there was more and more. I broke my arm one year when I was escaping Hanamura and I had to sell one of the bracelets then. I had to get more of my ya—my arrows—and I sold another bracelet. One necklace was because I... I got sick—.”

“Sick?”

“Pneumonia.”

“Fuck.” You had to look down for a moment. Finally, you looked up to him and reached to touch his knee. “You could have died.”

“I cannot die just yet. I was sure I was close to ending them, only to find that they have now approached Talon and are now working with them.” He puffed out a breath. “That year I was told to leave the shelter I was staying at. They found my bow and had a no weapons policy. So, I was in an alley during a snowstorm. I had enough to pay for the urgent care and then the medicine without an ID or anything, but I needed to pay for a stay in a ryokan for ten days.”

You watched his haunted eyes. He lapsed into silence, studying your face with some kind of unfamiliar urgency. Finally, he glanced at the bag on your floor and then the door. His voice caught roughly. “I apologize. I should not have come—.”

“No.”

“I am not here to hurt you.”

“I know.” You sighed, trying to figure out what to say next. “I was... so confused. It seemed like you just disappeared. And I didn’t hear anything from you after I got out of the hospital.” You scowled at him and punched his shoulder. Not hard—not hard enough, anyway—but enough that he flinched back. “You sent me to the hospital! Jerk!”

“I gave you... a little bit of a drug. Enough that the hospital would keep you for a while. Then, you would have some defense from all of the happenings. So that you would not be home and ambushed.” His eyes were agonized still, but he didn’t even pull his hands out of his pocket to defend himself. “I could not bring myself to give you... the other.”

“I wasn’t pregnant anyway,” you snarled.

His eyes closed and he pulled out his hands out of his pockets. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he folded them together and closed his eyes like he was praying. Finally he managed to look at you again. “I could not figure out if I wanted you to have my child or if it would be better for that not to happen. I did not want to ruin your life, but... but... I loved the idea of you having my child.” He gave you a lopsided, sad grin. “I did not even care if it was a boy or a girl. Just... a baby with you. Even when I gave you that powder... it was safe if you were pregnant.”

You watched as he bowed his head again. At first, there was only a harsh panting, but you saw it at last—the glistening in his eyes. Then a trickle of a tear down his cheek. His eyes went red and bloodshot and he seemed to be almost shaking with all that he was holding in.

You were about to say something else, but then there was the most outrageous gurgling sound. Hanzo’s entire face turned red and he shot backwards. His hands went to his stomach as it grumbled again. “I apologize. I... I am... mortified.”

You were turning as red as he was. Even his ears were red. “Umm.... Hungry?”

He looked ashamed and reached for the bag. Fumbling with the tie, he opened the bag. A dusty, dry smell came out of the bag as he dug around and pulled out an old granola bar. He looked up at you and tugged at the wrapper. “This is... under control.”

“Hungry. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Why don’t I fix something?”

His eyes lit up and he smiled. “I can handle this.”

Fuck. He was going to be stubborn and there was a proud jut to his chin. You rolled your eyes and pushed on his knee. “Whatever, tough guy. I am bushed. Look, work has been hard and things have been... really weird lately. I am going to fix some food and I will fix some extra in case you are still here when it’s ready.” You looked at him and the bag. “And in case you are planning on sticking around for at least a few hours—the washer and dryer are over there and the shower is through there.”

You knew it was stupid o’ dark in the morning, but fuck, you wanted something that wasn’t a grease bomb or stupidly fattening. You had eggs. You had some... what? Some onions and mushrooms. Maybe some parsley and garlic. Half a carton of orange juice and some cheese. You had a pound of ground beef.

You wandered back to the bedroom and stuck your head in the door. Hanzo still sat on your bed, but he held the pearls in his fingers, stroking the glistening gems. “Is... an omelette okay? Or... homemade burgers?”

His eyes shot to you. “What? Oh... I have....” He turned red again. “I cannot eat... cheese. Milk.” His voice became a discontented grumble. “Some kind of genetic allergy. Most of Japan is... lactose intolerant.”

“Okay, no milk. No cheese.” You sighed. “I’ll fix an omelette. I’m utterly tired of burgers, you know?” He looked absolutely unconvinced, but nodded blankly anyway. “Omelette for two, coming up.”

You chopped the mushrooms and onions. The garlic. You weren’t sure if all that even went into omelettes, but it seemed like anything would be welcome. You sautéed the vegetables, added salt and pepper. You looked at the plastic wrapped package of parsley.

“That does not look... fresh.” Hanzo came in on almost silent feet. He took the package and opened it and sniffed it. “This is too old.”

He picked up your eggs and rooted around for a bowl. You stared in surprise as he expertly cracked the eggs and began beating them. He added some salt and pepper and looked up in time to see you staring at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You know how to cook?”

He looked—stared at the bowl carefully. “I spent about eight months helping in a soup kitchen. It was never... exciting or gourmet, but it was hot food on cold nights.”

“Okay. So, let’s fix the omelette.”

The omelette looked... terrible. Television chefs made it look so easy, didn’t they? But it smelled good and warm and savory. And you both had some orange juice to go with it. Not gourmet and not fancy, but it still tasted good enough for tonight. He ate slowly, but his grin was infectious as he openly savored every bite.

Finally, he stood and took the dishes to the sink and began washing them. He seemed worlds away from the arrogant man you had known. This was a sadder man, more mature man. A man who was suddenly real and strangely humbled instead of arrogantly worldly. He took up your towel and dried the dishes as well before quietly putting them in the cupboard.

Finally he sat down at the table again and cradled the half full glass of juice in his big hands. He looked up at you with a half-hearted smile. “Is this satisfactory?”

“Y-y-yes, of course.” You grinned at him. “I mean—I don’t have guests a lot. Definitely not ones that wash their own dishes.”

He nodded and shrugged. Finally, he asked, “Have you see Genji?”

“Genji?”

“Yes.... I lost touch with him a few months ago.” His eyes were wide and worried as he looked at you. “If you have not, I will tell he is much changed. He is an Omnic. Half Omnic.” He coughed roughly. “If you have not seen him—you might not recognize him.”

“Shiny. Metal covered like a knight in armor. Green lights, now.”

“Now?”

“Originally it was red.”

He stared at you as if you were crazed. Then he let out a chuckle. “I suppose it was too much to ask for him to have avoided you as much as he did me. So what have you been up to? How are you faring?”

You were really tired and yawned before giving him a glare. “I did all right. As you can see, I am still going. I am still carrying on.”

“I see that you are still tired. That you are still working far too hard and far too many hours.” He cocked his head. “You have always been determined. What are you working for?”

You were going to give him a flippant answer—“a long and wealthy retirement”—but instead you blurted out the truth. “I am saving for my own place. A bar of my own.”

You were surprised to see him nod thoughtfully. “I would like to see a good place open up.”

You yawned again. “Look, this is really damn late. Can we talk about this in the morning? Later in the morning—like when the sun is up?”

He nodded and guided you to the bedroom. His voice was warm and sweet. “I think you are right. I will let you go to bed.” He picked up the bag. “I will see you in the morning.”

You thought for a moment and stared at him. “Where are you going to go?” He stopped to look at you. “You’re... going to sleep in an alley again aren’t you?”

“There is a relatively clean area about two blocks over. It is enough for tonight.” He glanced at the window. “At least it isn’t raining tonight.”

You sighed. “I suppose we’ve shared a bed before. I get the big pillow and the right hand side.”


	17. Chapter 17

You were surprised to find him still there in the late morning light. He was curled up like a child with his hands under his head. You staggered to get some water to drink and to brush your teeth. You got a towel and showered and when you stepped out, you smelled... something delicious. You tugged on your bathrobe and wrapped the spare towel around your head. Hanzo must be cooking again. Still, you were shy as you crept out.

Hanzo was in the bedroom, leaning against the wall as you stepped out. He seemed a bit like he used to be. He that slight arrogant jut of his chin, the sharp eyes that missed nothing. When he saw you, he gave you a toss of his head.

“We have been found out.” He snorted and nodded towards the other door. “It seems that my brother has lost none of his skill in all these years.”

“What did he do?!”

“He is in the kitchen with... an Omnic monk. They brought groceries and a considerable pile of papers and a few crates of supplies.” He puffed out an impatient breath. “They were... not my idea.”

You sniffed. “What are they cooking? It’s... nice, but I cannot quite identify it. Not... bacon or sausage.”

“It is a traditional Japanese breakfast. And some more eggs because I saw that you were just about out.” He rolled his eyes. “Rice with ikura. Eggs with furikake and pickled vegetable salad. The main course is grilled salmon and there’s even natto.”

“I... don’t know what some of that is.” He looked at you in surprise. “Look, I fixed my own breakfasts in Japan—you know, milk and cereal, oatmeal, bacon and eggs.”

“You will forgive me if I do not know exactly what you mean, either.” He shrugged. “I have had a form of sausage, but not what you call bacon. Oatmeal seems... strange. I did not like it when I tried it as a child.” He grinned at you. “I would suggest that you get dressed before he comes in to get us.”

You shuddered and grabbed your clothes. Struggling into them, you looked at him. “So, to what do we owe the honor of the visit?”

You heard a muffled shout. “Hey you two—you’d better not be screwing around when we’ve got breakfast on the table!”

You couldn’t mistake Genji’s teasing voice and it made you blush. “Fuck.”

“Not now.” Hanzo snorted. “But he is likely not teasing us about coming in here.”

You tucked in your shirt with a flush and spun in front of him. “Good enough?”

“Not quite.” He took the pearls out and put them around your neck. “There.” He smiled down at you and you caught your breath to hear the erotic warmth in his voice. “Here I spent all that to buy them and next to your beauty, they are only rocks.”

You flushed as your fingers went to stroke them. “They... are lovely.”

“Not so lovely as you.”

“Come get breakfast!” Genji shouted.

He sighed and snarled at the door. “We must... let him have his way, I suppose. He is like a child—screaming and shouting over and over until he gets his way.”

You laughed at him. “You sound like a weary father.”

He nodded and took your hand gently to put it in the crook of his elbow. “I was... in a way. Father was always so busy with the clan, growing the power of the Shimada, that he had little time for us once Mother died. So, as the oldest son, I was told to look out for him.”

He led you to the kitchen and sat you down. Hanzo was right. There was a thick stack of papers on the counter, a stack of bags from a local grocery store, and two large boxes in the corner. Zenyatta was there in his loose pantaloons and had a messy apron with tangled ties at the back of his mechanical neck and around his skinny waist. He even had a chef’s toke on his head.

Genji was at the stove, stirring a pan of rice with his faceplate off and to the side. “Hey, you two. I fixed a little of everything, so dig in.”

You stared at the crowded tabletop. Sure enough—there were eggs, rice and fish, along with things you couldn’t identify. Hanzo stared at it all hungrily before handing you a plate. He must have seen the doubt on your face and murmured, “It will be delicious.”

Sure enough, it was.

Zenyatta kept up a running patter as he plugged into some local broadcast. His voice rose and fell to imitate the two talk show hosts. Hearing him and his metallic imitations was hysterical as you nibbled the unfamiliar treats. Genji hovered around, bringing you both fresh black tea.

At last, breakfast was done. You watched as the Omnic monk quite perfectly scooped up the dishes and went to the sink. “How interesting a sensation. To cleanse the fragile objects with water and allow the.... What is this liquid, my student?”

“Dish soap, Master.”

“Dish... soap. How interesting a substance. It dissolves the fats and solutions when used with the water.” The monk kept his metallic hand underneath the stream, even though it was billowing steam. “The warmth would seem to assist in the disinfecting of the fragile dishes.”

Genji let out a snicker. “Yes, Master.”

“This is certainly an enjoyable experience,” Zenyatta chirped. “I shall cherish it.”

And cherish it, he did. He washed everything and then dried it with a towel, his toke bouncing as he nodded. The apron was soaked, as were his pantaloons, but he seemed to be very happy as he whirred and chirped. He began almost dancing as he set the dishes in the cabinet. Then, with a happy twirl, he stood in the middle of the room with his arms up like a five year old playing superhero.

Genji kept a straight face.

Genji was the only one to keep a straight face.

You burst out into laughter and even Hanzo managed to unbend enough to snicker. Zenyatta chirped and tilted his head back and forth, looking at the two of you with whirring and chirping. “Is something amusing?”

You took in a hasty breath. “Umm....”

“They are very silly, Master,” Genji offered with a fake solemnity. “It is often a human custom to be more... relaxed and prone to laughter when reunited with one who is missed.”

“Ahh. What an interesting custom.” He looked at all of you then. “Is the Brother Hanzo going to send his dragons out now?” Hanzo choked suddenly, his eyes bugging out and coughing. His cheeks got red and he glared at the monk. “Did I miss the event?”

Genji collapsed to the floor, laughing. Zenyatta chirped again in a high-low sort of tone. “Is there a problem? Did I misspeak?” He turned towards Genji with a strange tone in his metallic voice. “Is the appearance of the dragons not what should happen next? Is this not a reunion with one who is missed? Were you not missed, my student?”

Genji kept laughing. His hysterical chortles filled the entire apartment. His arms wrapped around his sides and his fingers clanked noisily against his body armor. Finally he gasped, his eyes watering profusely, and whispered, “No, Master. My brother, Hanzo, will not do that. He is reunited with one he holds dear.”

“Did he not hold you dear, my student?”

Hanzo glowered at you and whispered, “He is my dear pain in the hindquarters.”

Genji hooted and had to laugh again. “Master... this is... entirely different. He will also not want to destroy his woman’s apartment because he—.”

“He what, my student?”

He looked at you and burst out laughing again. He pointed towards your necklace. “He likes her, Master.”

Zenyatta clicked and whirred for a moment, his head tilting in confusion. “He likes her? Like. A verb to describe a positive relationship to someone.” Suddenly he whirred again and pointed his finger in the very imitation of a professor at a lecture. “Ahh. A mating relationship.”

Hanzo choked again, reaching for the glass of tea in front of him and glowering daggers at the Omnic monk and the cyber ninja. Zenyatta did not seem to catch the point. “A mating relationship is considered an important aspect of human society. Please Brother Hanzo, do not allow me to interrupt the necessary mating rituals. Proceed.”

You scowled and stared at the Omnic monk. “What?! Mating here?! Now?!”

“Do not allow me to disturb your customary mating rituals.” He clicked and whirred expectantly. “Or, if you would be glad to help me, may this one assume that one does not summon dragons during necessary courtship and mating rituals?”

Genji hooted again weakly. “N-n-n-no, Master. One does not generally summon the dragons during courtship.”

Hanzo glared and hissed at you, “However, I might be willing to make an exception this time.” Finally, he pounded a fist on the table. “Genji, before I continue my necessary courting rituals, could you please get to the point?”

Zenyatta nodded. “I believe I understand. My presence may interfere with courtship rituals.” Hanzo gave him a bitter nod. “However, if you are available, then I would appreciate a more explicit description of the rituals that you engage in. At your convenience—of course.”

“Could we please get down to business?” Hanzo demanded impatiently. “Before I grow old?”

Zenyatta nodded again. “Of course. The Brother Hanzo is correct—we should make every effort to conclude the business, my student, so that the courtship rituals can continue.” He whirred again. “As you have told me, dragons are highly endangered with only three known specimens remaining. So it is very important to allow courtship and mating to continue in order to propagate the species.”

Genji hooted and howled on his knees. Tears were streaming down his face and dripping onto his metal body. Finally, he managed to gasp in a few breaths and nodded. “Yes, Master.”

It took him several minutes to regain self control enough to get to the papers and then get them to the table. Apparently, there were two sets because he divided them in front of each of you. You frowned at them, staring uncomprehendingly at the legalese covering the first page. A slick Overwatch logo was printed on the first page and you caught your own name in the text.

Finally you stared up at them, “What is this?”

Zenyatta came up to the table with a whir and a squeak. “This is a standard form SF-992R.”

Genji was there to translate. “This is a standard form from the newly reformed Overwatch. You will notice that this covers several different things.” He flipped pages and pointed. “Your forms will be slightly different than Hanzo’s. You will need to provide two forms of identification, if you have them.”

Hanzo snorted and began to read his papers. The man must be a speed reading demon, to be reading that fast. He pulled a battered pen from his pocket and began signing his name on the numerous highlighted lines. Finally he tossed the pen on the table. With a grunt, he nodded at you. “I am relatively satisfied.”

You stared at the papers again. “And what am I supposed to do?”

Genji nodded at you in a friendly way. “You are fine. This is all voluntary.” He grinned at you. “But we are extending you—. That is... Overwatch is extending you refugee status.” His smile at his brother was wolffish and sly. “As a known... friend of one very wanted Hanzo Shimada, it was... suggested that you might become a target of those who would want to harm that same Hanzo Shimada.” He shrugged lightly. “Especially since Talon and the remaining Shimada clan are combining forces in this area.”

You went pale and looked between the brothers. If only one or the other of them would smile or laugh. But they didn’t—so they must be serious. Even Zenyatta was silent as you began to stumble through the document. It was mostly clear—an official status as a refugee, a passage to some base in a place called ‘the Dorado Watchpoint’ for intake and processing of your status, an acknowledgement that your identity would be transferred, and a non-disclosure agreement of any information about Hanzo Shimada or Genji Shimada. The documents were gradually becoming clearer, although the actual language was extremely.... convoluted. You finally nodded and began signing where the lines were highlighted.

Zenyatta watched you both sign the documents silently. Genji fidgeted idly, making little noise but still making himself almost the center of attention. Finally, you nodded at him and pushed the papers back. “There you go.”

Genji clapped his metal hands and grinned like a maniac. “And now we’re all a big, happy family.” He held out a hand with an eager smile. “So, let me welcome you to Overwatch... kind of.”

You shook his hand in a daze. Still, your eyes went to Hanzo nervously. “What happens to him? I mean... can we—?”

“Be together?” Genji grinned. “Well, that does depend on my sour, stubborn brother, doesn’t it?” He wrapped an arm around Hanzo’s shoulders in every appearance of brotherly happiness and camaraderie. “But hey—don’t go too hard on him or else he’ll get all grumpy, huh?”

“I guess?”

Zenyatta gave a nod and a whir. “I have already transmitted your acceptances of the terms that Overwatch is offering. They have sent a confirmation receipt.” He cocked his head. “There will be a team in two days to help you relocate your possessions.” Genji nodded eagerly. “I will of course, be on hand to assist in this relocation and the integration process. As the senior agent, it will be my pleasure to help you.”

Genji laughed, “And to observe the courtship, eh, Master?”

“Yes, well, if those rituals occur in public and I am present to witness, then what is the harm?”

You groaned and felt your face turning red. They were both impossible. “Okay. So, we’re both signed up. Now could we have some peace?”

They managed to finally take the hint and went on their way. You stared at Hanzo for a while, trying to take in everything. From one day to the next, you had changed your whole life. You were no longer a simple bartender with a collection of stories and big plans to open your own place. You were a political refugee with the whole of Overwatch behind you, protecting you.

At least you had some savings. You touched your pearls, trying to figure out what you should be feeling. You had skills, experience. You could up and move... just one more time. Hanzo’s hands reached to hold yours. It made you wake up and look at him. His eyes were boring into yours as he held onto you. It shocked you, made your blood run cold, to see him like this.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, burning with things on the tip of his tongue. Such a strong and stoic man and to your surprise he had tears in his eyes. Tears that trailed down his hollow cheeks and sparkling in the coarse beard on his jaw. He was so close to falling apart that his hands were trembling like an old man’s.

“I am... sorry. I am so very sorry.” He closed his eyes and those tears overflowed and slid faster down his cheeks. “I am sorry for all the... endless... problems that I bring to your door.”

You were completely shocked as he fell apart. For hours, all you could do was listen as he kept talking. Talking and talking and talking. Talking about his life, his family. Talking about how alone he felt as the heir and the Shimada Scion—the one that the entire clan looked to for direction and guidance. Talking about how he and Genji had fought each other like brothers and fought beside each other like brothers. Talking about how his marriage had never been real and how it had fallen apart. Talking about how he wanted to be a real man—a man with a regular job, a man with a real wife. Talking about how he had wandered for years and all that he had done and been during those years—a street fighter, a short order cook and busboy, a trash man, a construction worker, and a card dealer. He told you, in details that seemed gritty and rough and—oh thank goodness—finally cathartic, all of the information about his strange and mysterious life. You had no idea of... anything... but you knew with every part of your being that he needed this.

Hours later—you had called in sick to work and then ordered a delivery pizza and a spaghetti—you realized you were out of tissues. And paper towels. He was so tired he was shaking and both of you were both exhausted. You were worn out from giving him the support he so desperately needed. He was simply worn out.

Unlike every other time you had seen him, he was completely open, completely and embarrassingly honest. He was ashamed and appalled at his earlier days—and cowed. Even the talking was humbled and quiet and so frankly truthful that it felt like he was dumping the entirety of the Japanese underworld into you. He gave you a profound amount of respect as you both went staggering back to the bed and collapsed. Your mind whirled as you tried to process even a sliver of what you had been told and visions of gangsters and weapons and yakuza and dragons and Omnics danced around you as you showered again.

Of course, they couldn’t hold you long since you had temptation itself out there in your bedroom. He was older, calmer, profoundly changed. If this is what you had seen that first night, you would have been clawing to get close to him. Not that he hadn’t been good looking, but now, with character and that sense of depth that could only come with profound changes—he was sexy as sin.

And as you turned off the light that night, you couldn’t resist asking, “So, what was this about dragons?”

He cursed softly and pressed a soft kiss to you. “Ask me later.”

“But—.”

“I will show you... when you accept my proposal.”


End file.
